Coincidence and misfortune
by aussiemel1
Summary: Jason, Hercules and Pythagoras are on a royal mission when Jason goes missing. Should they complete the mission, or find Jason? Set after Telemon.
1. Chapter 1

Hi All. I've dived into a second Atlantis fanfic. It loosely follows on from my previous story, A Meeting with the Queen, but if you don't want to read that one first, all you need to know is that Pasiphae made an offer to Jason that she would renounce all interest in Atlantis if he would become her second in command, and he refused. And Medea knows Jason is Pasiphae's son.

This story is set after Telemon. So forget everything that comes after! lol. Not easy, I know.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Jason raised a silent hand to halt the progress of the small group behind. He scanned the trees to the right for a long moment, dismounted his horse, removed the sword from his saddle and walked over to where Gaius, one of Queen Ariadne's guards, was mounted.

"I'm going to have a look to the right."

Hercules and Pythagoras were mounted behind Gaius, heard what Jason said, and immediately looked to the right, trying to see what Jason might have seen.

There was no urgency in Jason's tone, it was the fourth time he'd dismounted this day to investigate a flash out of the corner of his eye. Twice he'd found nothing, a fleet-footed animal presumably, and the third time had been a group of harmless travellers making camp. But the wariness was justified. They were travelling only as a group of four, but they were carrying the future of Atlantis in their cargo, a fortune in gold to get the city back on its feet after the destruction caused by Pasiphae's army.

Gaius had been handpicked by Dion to accompany them on the journey, extolled as one his finest and most reliable men. Jason wasn't sure if the chaperone was for their security or to ensure that some of the gold didn't fall into their pockets, but he'd proved agreeable company, not too demanding of them over the four day journey, wise and efficient with their time and plans. He was patient with Jason making sorties away from the party, respectful of his skill and intuition. And with Atlantis less than a day's ride away, Gaius was as determined as Jason that their assignment not fail so close to completion.

"Make your path further to the left," Jason cautioned. "And move a little faster. I'll catch up with you."

"What do you think it might be?" Gaius asked.

"An animal?" Jason smiled apologetically. He was being overcautious. And he didn't like making their small group smaller. Riding through the forest was both a blessing and a curse, it meant they were hard to discover, but it also meant danger could be waiting around every corner, it was difficult to see past trees and undergrowth.

Gaius nodded tightly, walked his horse up beside Jason's and looped the reins of Jason's horse into his own so that the unmanned animal would match pace.

Hercules watched his friend jog into the woodlands with misgivings. Each time Jason went off alone it felt wrong, Hercules had the urge to accompany him. But they'd had that argument. Jason had insisted the gold must be protected. And he assured that he was only scouting, that if he saw anything threatening he would return with haste and they would tackle the danger together. Hercules wasn't sure he believed him. He didn't really trust that Jason could walk away from a threat. He wasn't sure Jason would _want_ to. Since Ariadne's betrothal to Telemon he'd developed a recklessness, a disregard for his safety that was exasperating. And a little frightening. As skilled as Jason was in combat, a solitary man could easily be overcome.

"Come on," Pythagoras quietly urged, moving his horse forward, following Gaius to the left as Jason had directed.

Jason jogged noiselessly over the leaf litter in the direction where something had caught his eye. For about a mile he saw nothing, and he stopped, gathered his bearings, and was considering whether to return to the group when he smelled smoke. He noted the direction of the wind and made a rough calculation about where the fire might be and changed his path to follow. He hurried through the forest, and idly knew that he was venturing too far off their route, that it would take an age for him to catch up (and boy would Hercules have something to say about that), but he was urged on by the fear that a horde may be preparing to attack their small band. Though he was confident there could be no particular plan to steal their treasure, only a few trusted people in Atlantis knew about the mission, it didn't diminish the possibility of being set upon by a random band of thieves, who would unwittingly score the haul of their lives.

Movement ahead made Jason slow, and the sight of figures made him duck behind the safety of trees. As he edged closer, he recognized the attire of the men nearest and realized in dismay that he had stumbled upon the camp of the Colchean army. Dion had said nothing about their presence so close to Atlantis, in fact the general had assured them that the marauding army were widely dispersed, and Jason had to assume it meant the enemy had only been in the area a few days.

He pressed himself against a large trunk and watched for a moment, gauging how much of a threat they posed. There didn't seem to be a flurry of movement, there didn't appear to be any purpose to their actions, no call to arms, no threat of imminent attack, they were simply making camp in the forest and he suspected they knew nothing of the important Atlantean mission traveling dangerously close to their southern border. Jason felt greatly relieved. With their superior numbers the Colcheans could easily overpower the small retinue. In all the planning for the mission, it had never been anticipated that they might encounter an army, and it was by way of luck that their path had taken them far enough from the enemy base that they had managed to pass unnoticed.

A heavy blow to the back made Jason suck in a breath and drop to his knees. He twisted around and saw an archer about ten feet away, young and wide eyed. As the soldier reached for another arrow, Jason pushed himself to his feet and raced toward the man. The archer stiffened in panic. They were in a race to see who could land the next blow. The archer drew the arrow smoothly from the bag at his back, but faltered inserting it into the bow as Jason bore down on him. With a furious expression Jason swung at the man, knocking him to the ground, and finished him off with a strike to the chest that pierced the protective leather and closed his eyes forever.

Jason withdrew his sword from the body with a strong tug, wearily dismayed by the unexpected confrontation, at having killed a young man. He stumbled backward a few steps and collapsed to a sit. His breath was harsh, gasping, and he took a moment to settle it, tilted his face upward to aid the flow of air. As the adrenaline faded he was troubled by a deep ache in his spine. He reached a hand over his shoulder and felt the shaft of an arrow protruding from his back, between his shoulder blades. He tried to grasp the arrow and pull it out, but the angle was difficult, he couldn't quite get his hands in the right spot to pull it cleanly, and pulling at it from a direction other than the way it went in was excruciating. After a few minutes he had to stop the effort, tugging ineffectually was only causing pain, and probably more damage, it would have to stay embedded for now.

Using his sword as support, Jason gained his feet. He took some staggered steps, and the way it jarred his back, made his wound shriek, caused him to groan and drop his head. He reached out a hand to a nearby tree and leaned heavily against it, his jelly legs struggling to keep him upright.

He knew he couldn't stay. He couldn't show himself any mercy, he had to move before another soldier happened across him and finished him off. He needed to put some distance between himself and the Colchean camp, then he could rest and regroup, consider his options from there, figure out how to reach his friends who were now so very far away. If he made a start, and set a steady pace, he trusted his instincts to take control. Just get away from the Colcheans, he told himself, and everything would work itself out.

He wasn't a big believer in _The Gods_, but if ever they were going to protect him, he hoped now was the time.

He closed his eyes, took in a few bracing breaths and pushed off from the tree.

* * *

"Where is he?" Hercules paced like a restless tiger.

Pythagoras could only shrug.

"He should be here by now. We're sitting ducks with a fortune in gold waiting for a foolish boy to return from his Sunday stroll."

Pythagoras looked at his friend reproachfully. They both knew that whatever was keeping Jason it wasn't a lack of urgency.

None of them had been happy about the danger of the mission. Four men escorting a fortune in gold seemed a fraught venture, _stupid_, Hercules went so far as to call it. But Dion had insisted the men could make a much faster journey, and attract much less attention than a palace entourage. The gold was desperately needed. The city was running out of money, and without it repairs would halt and the economy would falter. And so it was, for the greater good, that the men had been persuaded to the make the journey to the neighboring kingdom and take delivery of the generous handout. Despite their misgivings. Despite the thousands of ways it could go wrong.

More tense minutes passed. "Something's happened," Hercules exploded.

"Maybe he just can't find us," Pythagoras reasoned, it was incredibly difficult to find bearings among the uniform trees, even if they had walked this forest innumerable times.

"No," Hercules shook his head. "Something's happened. I'm going to go look for him."

"You cannot," Gaius directed sternly. "You are on a royal mission. To abandon that mission would be treason. We must deliver the gold."

"Jason is probably hurt," Hercules insisted, and shifted his eyes from the soldier to Pythagoras, trying to get his majority, to rebel against the command.

"We are carrying a fortune in gold…" Pythagoras argued weakly. Logically, they should deliver the gold first. The consequences if their mission failed, if the gold was lost, would be catastrophic, Atlantis would never recover. But _Jason is probably hurt _gave him pause, because it was probably true. Hurt or captured could be the only reasons for Jason's delay, nothing else would have diverted him from such an important duty. And he felt a real urge to search for his friend, just as Hercules did, Jason couldn't be far. He was torn inside between what the mind guided and what the heart guided.

"We will deliver the gold, then return to find Jason," Gaius suggested, not unsympathetic to the predicament.

"He could be dying!" Hercules exclaimed. "He could be dead before we return."

"Hercules, please," Pythagoras beseeched, not wanting to contemplate their friend in such awful circumstance. "He was only scouting. He probably twisted his ankle or something."

Hercules wasn't convinced. "There are thousands of bandits in this forest," he exaggerated. "If he happened upon a group of them..." he ran his thumb along his throat. "Curtains."

"If he came upon a group of bandits that is all the more reason for us to make haste to Atlantis, they won't be far behind," Gaius reasoned.

Hercules blew out a breath in disgust and ran a hand over his head.

"Let me take an hour to look for him." It was Pythagoras who made the suggestion, and Gaius looked at him in surprise.

Hercules eyes shone in relief. "Yes, I'll come with you."

"No." Pythagoras fixed plaintive blue eyes upon his friend. "You must remain here with Gaius and protect the gold. This mission is too important to fail."

"Then I shall go," Hercules stated impatiently. "And you stay here."

"No." Pythagoras clicked his tongue at Hercules stubbornness. "You are the largest of us, and if bandits were to attack, you stand a much better chance of defeating them than me."

Hercules growled, not wanting to hear reason and paced away from his friend.

Pythagoras shifted his focus to the soldier. Gaius hadn't commented on the proposal for a limited search and judging by the look on his face, he wasn't pleased with the notion.

"Please Gaius, just an hour. I will backtrack along our path and if I don't find Jason I will return."

"You can't go alone," Hercules objected from several paces away.

"I must," Pythagoras retorted. Suddenly he remembered Telemon travelling solo and being set upon by bandits in the forest. As improved as his fighting skills were, he wasn't sure he could overcome a band of thieves on his own. In worrying about Jason he hadn't really considered the danger he was inviting upon himself. But the sun still shone and would do for many hours, and it would be unlucky to be attacked in daylight, especially while on horseback, he reassured himself.

"One hour," Gaius unwillingly conceded. He closed his eyes and shook his head like it was a concession he really didn't want to make. "Understand that if you are not back in one hour we must continue the journey without you, and you will be guilty of treason."

"Or dead," Pythagoras added soberly.

Hercules begrudgingly helped Pythagoras remove the cargo of gold that was slung over his mount. Each of their horses was carrying pouches of gold, it was more convenient than pulling a cart but it meant a lot of extra weight on the animals and slowed them considerably. In a low voice he said, "This is a bad idea."

"I know," Pythagoras returned.

"We shouldn't be splitting up."

"I know."

As Pythagoras climbed onto his horse, Hercules put a hand on his arm and said, "I will not leave two friends in the forest."

Pythagoras looked at Hercules, the big man's face pinched and tight, and understood what he meant, that if he didn't return in one hour, Hercules would come looking for him, treason or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Oh boy, The Grey Sisters has played havoc with what I have written for this story, the episode has either said what I was about to say, or debunked what I was about to propose. You may have to forget about The Grey Sisters when reading this story.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

As Pythagoras approached, returning from his search for Jason, Hercules felt some small relief that he hadn't lost two friends in the forest this day, but his heart still hammered painfully in his chest, full of hope and dread for Jason. Even from a distance he could see that Pythagoras was alone. He rubbed fingers into his eyes and dragged them down the side of his face, his disappointment was palpable.

The mathematician drew his horse to a halt beside the small group, and shook his head. "He has disappeared, I couldn't find him." He slid off the horse, gave Gaius a taut nod of greeting then walked over to Hercules. The big man couldn't look at him, caught up in worry and fear. Pythagoras planted himself in front of his friend, ducked his head and focussed at the ground. "I'm sorry. I couldn't have been more thorough in my search. He just… wasn't there." He raised his eyes, hoping to see some understanding in Hercules expression. He had failed badly, he knew that, but he hoped his friend understood it wasn't from lack of trying. "Perhaps he ventured a long way off the path. Or perhaps he was taken somewhere."

"We have to keep looking," Hercules urged, distress in his features, in the slump of his shoulders.

Pythagoras sighed, swallowed deeply. "We must deliver the gold to Atlantis." There was no equivocation in his tone. His heart was heavy, but his determination was clear.

Hercules turned away, ran a hand across his mouth.

"It is our mission, Hercules. And it is an important mission. Jason will understand. Jason will expect it of us."

"Our role is to protect him," Hercules replied, his voice taut and strained. "The Gods asked us to protect him. And I fear he may be dead."

"Don't." Pythagoras closed his eyes and shook his head. "He is alive until we know otherwise. The sooner we deliver this blasted gold to Atlantis the sooner we can return to look for him."

"We need to keep moving," Gaius called, as he started making preparations with the horses.

Pythagoras glanced anxiously at his friend, waiting to see if he would mutiny and demand more action to locate Jason. But after an undecided moment Hercules wordlessly strode to Gaius and helped him return the displaced cargo of gold to Pythagoras's horse. His despair was evident in the lines of his face, but he grudgingly accepted that the mission was the priority. Not _his_ priority necessarily, he would much prefer to venture into the woods and look for Jason, but another night in the forest when they were a man down was too great a risk to the people of Atlantis, it would extend the jeopardy of their important cargo. They had to make haste to deliver the gold and secure the city's future. Then they could figure out what to do about Jason.

Hercules vision blurred with threatening tears. It would be a full day before they could return and search for their friend, and that seemed an unreasonable amount of time to leave Jason to fend for himself. He tried to reassure himself that Jason was skilled, and resourceful, and of the three of them, he was the most capable of keeping himself alive, whatever circumstance he found himself in. But still, helplessness and fear threatened to overwhelm him. Hercules had never felt so conflicted, so heavy with anxiety.

Before mounting his horse, Hercules took a knife from his knapsack, walked to the nearest tree and hacked at it viciously, venting his anger. He turned to Pythagoras, who was sitting atop his horse staring at him wide-eyed, and commented, "Now we have a starting point for our search when we return."

* * *

Medea noticed the dark curly hair before anything. Ordinarily a man lying dead on the path would be nothing to her, an unfortunate end to a random stranger, no reason to stop and investigate. But the dark curly hair reminded her of when they had entered Atlantis and Pasiphae had become upset at the sight of a man dead in the street. She understood now, that Jason was Pasiphae's son, that she thought it was him dead in the street, and Medea had the same thought when she came across a curly headed man, prone on the forest floor with an arrow sticking out of his back.

She halted the guards that were with her and dismounted her horse. She moved toward the man, whose face was obscured by an outstretched arm, lifted his head by the hair, and drew in a horrified breath when she discovered it was indeed Jason lying injured on the ground.

"Oh no," she murmured. And she was more worried about Pasiphae than Jason, the reaction from her aunt if her son was dead. She lay a hand across Jason's cheek and was relieved to feel some warmth.

"Bring him," she ordered.

Two of the soldiers dismounted and hurried over to collect Jason. One lifted him by the wrists the other by the ankles and moved him toward the horses. Medea was dismayed by how unresponsive he was, not a groan, not a flinch.

"Put him on mine," Medea commanded. And if the soldiers found the instruction strange, their princess asking for an injured stranger to ride on her mount, they said nothing, simply complied with the order and slung Jason across her horse's neck, in front of the saddle so that she could ride with him.

While they did so, Medea gazed around the area, looking for some clue as to how Jason came to be there, how he got injured. There was no evidence of a struggle. No sign of other casualties. She was surprised at the idea of him travelling alone, he was usually in company, but there appeared to be no-one else in the vicinity. She couldn't quite figure it out.

She mounted her horse and put a hand under Jason's tunic to rest on his back, seeking reassurance that he was alive. If he wasn't, it would be much better to leave him here, and not let Pasiphae know of his death. She couldn't predict what her aunt might do if her son was delivered dead, but it was a safe bet the reaction would be extreme, and better avoided.

Medea grimaced at the wet of blood on her fingers, the shirt was sodden, but she also felt the warmth in Jason's body, and the slight rise and fall as he took each breath. She withdrew her hand and considered whether to remove the arrow. She grasped the shaft lightly to judge how easily the arrow might be removed and with a small amount of pressure discovered that it wouldn't move readily, the sharpened end had pierced the leather armour and the stiff material of the garment was resistant to the object being withdrawn. The vest would need to be cut, or the arrow would need to be cut, it was a dilemma best left for the physician at camp. And until the arrow was removed there was nothing she could do toward healing him.

Medea kept one hand on Jason as she urged her horse forward and conducted the party toward camp. As she rode, she marveled at the incredible coincidence of finding her cousin injured in the vastness of the forest. Surely the Gods must have been instrumental in directing her route, and in ensuring that she was at the head of the patrol, because any other in the camp would have passed him by without a second thought and left him to die.

She only hoped the luck in finding Jason would extend to preserving his life.

* * *

"Tell me Jason is alive."

Hercules hiccoughed slightly after he spoke, almost a small sob, as the enormity of the question hit him, and deep dread threatened to consume him. In the long hours it had taken to cover the distance to Atlantis a war had been waging in his head pitting optimism against pessimism, and pessimism easily had the upper hand.

The Oracle interrupted her quiet chanting, but stayed on her knees, didn't turn to face Hercules when she replied, "Jason is alive."

Hercules was dissatisfied with the swift reply, he wanted a considered response, for her to consult with the Gods or whatever. "Are you sure?" he pressed.

She did turn to him then, looked at him with serious eyes and said, "Yes. I would feel if Jason were dead."

"Okay," Hercules muttered, and leant heavily against the wall, relief so great that his trembling legs threatened to betray him. "Where is he?"

She regarded him with slight bemusement, at his assumption that without any preamble, without knowing what exactly brought him before her, he expected her to have answers. "He is where you left him."

Hercules frowned. "No. Pythagoras couldn't find him. Where is he _exactly_."

The Oracle slid her eyes to the ground, somewhat annoyed. "I cannot be more exact. You must return to where you last saw him."

Hercules raised a placating hand. "Yes, okay." But now that he knew Jason was alive he wanted more information, more reassurance. "Is Jason alright?"

The woman closed her eyes in concentration before answering, "He is in pain."

Hercules brows angled in alarm. "Why? What happened?"

The woman's eyes remained closed and she shook her head in frustration. "The Gods are not showing me."

"How much pain? Is he dying?"

For a moment Jason's pain coursed through the woman as if it was her own. She flinched at it, drew in a quick breath, and severed the connection quickly by opening her eyes. She blinked a few times to recover herself, braced a hand against the ground. "The pain is great. I cannot say if he is dying."

"Well that's just…" Hercules clamped his mouth shut and balled his hands into fists. The relief from moments ago dissipated, and once again he was wound up tight with worry. "Can you tell me anything more?"

"The Gods will be with you in your search for Jason."

"Wonderful," he muttered through clenched teeth, annoyed by how unhelpful the Oracle could be, and by her lack of tact. It would have been better to say Jason is alive and leave it at that because now he had all these dire scenarios in his head, imagining awful injuries that Jason might have suffered. And he felt terribly guilty that he had left his friend hurt in the forest. He knew it, he knew he should have followed his instincts and demanded they find Jason as soon as he went missing, he never should have allowed Pythagoras to talk him out of it. He curtly bowed his head and took his leave.

Pythagoras approached expectantly as he exited the temple. Hercules raised his hand to prevent any questions and offered, "He is alive but he is in pain. That's all the Oracle could tell me."

Pythagoras digested the information. "It's something."

"It's not much," Hercules retorted. "And before you ask, she doesn't give directions, so we still have no idea where he is."

Dion strode across the courtyard toward them. "I am glad to find you to here. The Queen has asked me to join you in the search for Jason."

Hercules flicked a surprised glance at Pythagoras. "That is very kind. We would welcome the company."

Dion inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Her Majesty has directed me to take as many men as I think necessary, but I believe we would be most efficient as just three. We can be faster and more attuned to the surrounds as a small group." Dion raised his eyebrows in question, giving them an opportunity to express their opinion about whether they thought more men might be advisable, but Hercules and Pythagoras only nodded mutely, taken aback by the calculation and consideration Dion had already given to the matter. They had only returned to Atlantis a short time ago, they hadn't even visited their house yet, they had given no thought to tactics and were happy to defer to his experience, surprised by how quickly Gaius had made his report to the Queen and how immediate the response was to Jason's disappearance. "We will take the queen's fastest horses, preparations are already being made so that we may depart quickly."

"That is most generous." Pythagoras raised his brows at Hercules.

Although they both knew the depth of Jason's feelings for Ariadne, they didn't really know how much of that feeling was returned, especially now that the queen was betrothed to another. She had always favoured Jason, that was undeniable, they had even seen the two kiss, but they had wondered if Telemon had usurped her affection, replaced Jason in her heart. To offer her most trusted advisor, and most precious resources, in the search for a man who was really no more than an ordinary citizen, even if Jason had gone missing in her service, showed concern that could be considered inappropriate. It gave them an idea that Ariadne struggled with her feelings, and with acting prudently, just as much as Jason did, and that the betrothal to Telemon was a complication that hadn't reached her heart.

"Meet me at the main gate," Dion instructed. "And rest assured, we will not return to Atlantis without Jason."

_But in what condition,_ Hercules thought glumly, and smiled wanly at the general as they parted ways.

The men returned to their house to gather some supplies, and as they walked through the door both Hercules and Pythagoras stopped in the entrance. Somehow there had been a vain hope that Jason might be there, that he had beaten them home. It had never been a reasonable hope, if they had considered it logically they would have seen it was impossible, but the absolute stillness of the house, the lack of Jason, affected them both for a few moments.

Pythagoras broke the reverie when he said quietly, "I'll see what food we have on the shelves."

Hercules swallowed and nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jason opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to chase away the sluggishness. He remembered immediately that he had been shot by an arrow, the burning ache in his back left little doubt. He was lying on his side and reached a hand over his shoulder, wincing at the movement, and discovered the arrow was removed, and there was a wad of padding and binding in its place.

A self pitying sigh escaped him. He'd had about enough of arrows. How many times had he been shot? It was getting ridiculous. He was barely over the last arrow wound. Before he'd arrived in Atlantis he had never suffered a grievous injury, breaking his arm when he was seven was as grievous as life got for him in the modern world. Now, he seemed to be in pain all the time. And this time it was entirely unprovoked.

"Pythagoras?" he called weakly, thinking it must have been his friend who had tended to his injury, but then he looked around and discovered he was lying in a tent. He frowned in bleary confusion, and puzzled for a moment over where Pythagoras might have obtained a tent.

A woman bustled in carrying a bucket of water. She was older, matronly, wearing an outfit that was tidy and well kept. She glanced at Jason then did a double take when she noticed his eyes were open. "You're awake."

"You're not Pythagoras," Jason replied, squinting at the woman, not sure if he was supposed to know her.

"Indeed I am not," she returned. "I am Agatha. The queen asked me to tend to you."

"Oh." Jason was pleasantly surprised to hear it. He took quiet comfort in the idea that Ariadne was concerned for his well being. "How long have I been here?"

There was some slurring to his speech that he didn't like, his mouth felt lazy and uncooperative and he ran his tongue over his lips to try and cure it.

"A little over a day."

Jason's brow wrinkled. He'd been less than a day's ride to Atlantis when he collapsed, he couldn't understand why Ariadne would send a woman with a tent to care for him and not someone on horseback to carry him to the city. It seemed a little dangerous to be recuperating in the forest. But his thoughts weren't gathering coherently, he figured there had to be good reason and didn't dwell on it.

"Are Hercules and Pythagoras nearby?"

The woman looked at him uncertainly. "I couldn't say."

His friends must have continued on to Atlantis with the gold, he surmised, and he was glad about it. The mission was important, he was grateful that his friends recognized it, and that they hadn't tarried in the forest because of his unfortunate injury.

"Is Ariadne nearby?"

Agatha tilted her head slightly and replied slowly, "I don't believe so."

Of course Ariadne wasn't nearby, Jason berated himself. She wouldn't have left the city on his account. It was generous of her to send a woman to care for him but he could expect no more from her. Ariadne was deliberately keeping her distance now that she was engaged to Telemon.

"But the queen sent you?" Jason persisted, trying to get his bearings.

"Oh yes. She was very concerned about you."

"So you travelled from Atlantis?"

Agatha's eyebrows drew down in confusion. "No. We were already encamped when the patrol found you."

"Camped?" Jason echoed in confusion, and did a long irritated blink. He was trying to follow the conversation, but it had been four days since he left Atlantis and guessing at what might have transpired in his absence was proving difficult. Ariadne was encamped? To what end? Surely not on his account?

"Is the queen hunting?" It was the only explanation he could think of for her leaving the city, other than a threat to her life which he didn't want to consider. He had never known Ariadne to hunt but perhaps Telemon was encouraging her to follow his pursuits_. _

The woman shook her head with a hinted smile. "Queen Pasiphae doesn't hunt."

_Pasiphae_?!

Jason sat up with a suddenness that was ill-advised, and very nearly passed out, his vision greyed alarmingly. He groaned as his eyelids fluttered, and he felt a hand at his neck, pushing his head down toward his knees, and another hand at his chest, preventing him from toppling off the cot. Agatha had very quick reflexes.

"Keep your head low," the woman instructed firmly. "Don't make the blood flow high." After a tense few moments she shifted her weight to kneel beside him, maintaining the pressure at his neck. "You're only half full," she quipped, in a reassuringly even tone. "You lost a lot of blood. So much that the physician thought for sure you would die. But the queen wouldn't hear of it. She told him if you died, he died." She huffed a wry laugh. "And she meant it too. Nothing like an incentive to make a man do his best."

Jason heard the words, and was suitably troubled by them. _He'd nearly died?_ He had suffered injury many times, and it had been miserably unpleasant but he'd never been in fear of his life before. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. He suspected she was exaggerating, that he was always going to recover, but further consideration of the matter was waylaid by the rebellion in his body, logical thought was displaced by the practicality of trying to will himself better. Dizzy light-headedness was unrelenting, the world felt like it was tilted, slowly rolling, and he couldn't seem to ground it, find balance. His stomach bucked threateningly and he swallowed a few times to keep everything in the right place, sweat beaded on his forehead at the effort of not being violently ill. But it was the torture in his back that nearly overwhelmed him, nearly tipped him into unconsciousness. He was motivated to stay rigidly still, hold his breath, as the slightest movement resulting in ripping pain down his spine, a disproportionate agony that was to be avoided at all costs. He remained in the curled position for long minutes, waiting for his body to calm down and normalize.

Finally, he planted his hands on the canvas bed, and pushed back slightly on the fingers at his neck, and Agatha removed the pressure, allowing him to very gingerly straighten.

"You should lie down," the woman directed, as she sat back on her heels and gazed at him with concern.

"No," Jason replied curtly. Last thing he wanted was to have to go through the torment of sitting up again. He swiped absently at the involuntary tears that rolled down his cheeks, and his mind raced, able now to extend beyond the misery in his body. Every assumption he had made was wrong. Pasiphae had saved him? That made no sense. Why would Pasiphae want him to live? Perhaps she been misinformed about who was injured, thought it was one of her men.

And what of Hercules and Pythagoras? He really hoped they weren't fumbling around the forest looking for him, that they had done the sensible thing and delivered the cargo to Atlantis.

"Where is my shirt?" Jason looked around the space, to see what was at his disposal. There was the bed he was laying on, a chair nearby, and a small table topped with a number of jars, nothing that was particularly useful to him.

"I believe it was used as rag to soak up the blood."

"Is there another I could have?"

Agatha thinned her lips, and looked like she wanted to say _Why would you need a shirt? _But she thought better of it and replied, "I'm sure I could find one."

But she didn't seem in any hurry to do so, as she reached down to the bucket beside the bed and brought up a ladle of water. "Drink," she commanded, and raised the water to his lips. Unwillingly Jason complied. He wasn't sure his stomach would keep it down, but he couldn't deny his raging thirst and drank more deeply than was probably prudent.

"Not too much," the woman gently chided, and returned the ladle to the bucket. She pressed the back of her hand to Jason's forehead and moved it down to his cheek, then shifted her weight slightly so that she could look at his back, he felt her hand pressing around the injury and tried not to flinch. She straightened, regarded Jason dubiously and remarked, "I think you'll live." And she actually didn't sound certain of it, which wasn't reassuring.

"Shirt?" Jason pressed, figuring he'd been pretty patient with her ministrations.

"Hmm," was the noncommittal return and Agatha averted her eyes. Jason got the feeling she had been directed not to leave his side. He couldn't figure if it was out of concern for his health or because he posed a threat.

"Please?" he persisted. "I'm quite cold. I think a shirt might help." He really was quite cold but it wasn't the reason he wanted a shirt, he was thinking ahead to his escape and didn't want to be walking through the forest bare chested, who knew what kind of attention that might draw.

"Oh," she gazed at him contritely, then skittered her eyes around the room looking for something of use, something that might offer warmth, but there was nothing. She expelled an annoyed breath.

"You understand that if I get you a shirt, you will still be bedridden for many days?"

"Of course," Jason replied innocently, whilst thinking _good luck with that_.

"Because you are far from well."

"I know."

She wasn't convinced by his agreeableness. She looked uncertainly toward the entrance and shook her head lightly. "Alright. I won't be gone long. Do not leave that bed."

Jason nodded amenably.

She narrowed her eyes at him, distrust in her expression. "Do not leave that bed," she repeated.

"Okay." The young man pinned her with his most honest expression, like he wouldn't dream of disobeying.

Agatha mumbled to herself and clearly had misgivings as she exited the tent. Not one minute after she had left, Jason swung his legs over the side of the bed, and winced at the pain that gripped him from head to toe. His limbs felt shaky and weak. He hated that feeling. It would usually be at this juncture that he would sling an arm around Hercules shoulder and rely on the big man to keep him upright. Without his friend he looked around for what might be useful for support.

Already he was planning his exit from the camp. Given a few hours he hoped to have enough strength to escape and, hopefully, reach Atlantis, his body was remarkably resilient. Although right now it seemed an ambitious plan.

If he'd been gone for a day, Hercules and Pythagoras must be frantic with worry. He prayed that they had delivered the gold to Atlantis without him. Surely Gaius would have insisted upon it. If his reckless actions had compromised the mission he would never forgive himself, he never should have ventured so far from the party. The Colcheans weren't even threatening, it was just an unfortunate coincidence that he had stumbled upon their camp, and been discovered.

And he was annoyed at himself for apparently collapsing too close to the Colchean camp, close enough to be discovered by a patrol. Although he didn't want to think about what might have happened had he not been discovered. He was mystified by the effort that had gone into saving his life. Hadn't Hercules said Colcheans slaughtered all in their path, that it was their way? He couldn't figure out why they would do the opposite for him, what the angle could be in keeping him alive. In fact the Colcheans had both wounded him and tended to him, which defied explanation. He was troubled by the contradiction. Pasiphae didn't do anything without ulterior motive, and it made him all the more determined to escape the camp before he could find out what the motive might be.

* * *

Hercules head drooped to his chest and he snapped it up quickly, opening his eyes wide. He hadn't slept in over a day. After losing Jason they had completed their journey to Atlantis through the night, with very limited breaks to spell and water the horses. He had caught a few minutes of sleep here and there, enough that he felt clear headed, but the rhythmic movement of the horse kept lulling his eyes closed.

"You're going to fall off that horse and die," Pythagoras warned in a low voice, so Dion wouldn't hear.

"Don't be an old woman," Hercules returned testily. He really didn't know what Pythagoras expected of him, to stop and take a nap? No way was that going to happen. He was determined that he wouldn't be the weak link in the search, he wouldn't be the one to slow them down.

Without being laden with cargo their pace through the forest was much swifter than when they had been carrying the gold. Dion led the way for most of the journey but as they approached the area where they had last waited for Jason, Dion hung back and allowed Hercules and Pythagoras to guide him. The men peered at every tree they passed, looking for the scoring that Hercules had made in the bark. Once they had found their starting point, they could gather their bearings and figure out where they had last seen Jason. But they also kept their eyes peeled for an injured man because after twenty four hours in the forest Jason could be anywhere by now.

Finding the scored tree was a problem. They had a general idea of where it might be, but finding one particular tree among hundreds was an exercise in frustration and they were going round in circles looking for it.

"We don't need to find the exact tree," Pythagoras complained, as Hercules doubled-back once more.

"Yes, I know," Hercules countered with irritation, "but if we did find the exact tree it would be much easier to get our bearings."

Dion dismounted his horse, exasperated by the dithering, and the lack of organization. He had declined Gaius's request to join the search party and now he wished he had not, Gaius's military training could have brought them to a reasonable search area with much less fuss. He took the opportunity to give his horse a well deserved treat, while he waited for the men to reach a consensus about where to begin the search.

"That ridge is familiar," Hercules said thoughtfully, peering at a wooded mound in the distance.

"Probably because we have passed it three times," Pythagoras muttered to himself, and then louder to his friend, "Honestly Hercules, we are very near the place where we last waited for Jason, let's just call this our starting point. We are wasting time."

"If you want to be inexact," Hercules reproached, "then fine, we can be inexact."

Pythagoras made some mental calculations about the pace of the horses on their previous journey and the direction they had travelled. "We should continue this way," he pointed with an arm outstretched.

Hercules nodded, content to follow his friend's lead, and Dion swiftly pulled himself onto his horse, delighted that they finally seemed to be traveling with purpose.

They had only been journeying for a few minutes when Hercules exclaimed, "Found it!"

Pythagoras heart jumped in his chest as he whirled around and scanned the forest floor for Jason.

"The tree," Hercules clarified, pointing to the bark he had defaced a day earlier.

"Hercules," Pythagoras berated, and shook his head in disgust, his disappointment keen.

"What? Now we know we are on the right path."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Jason stood in the middle of the room with one hand resting on the back of a chair and tried very hard not to direct all his weight against it, to find his own balance. Again he lamented the absence of Hercules, the hard wooden support didn't have the softness or give of his friend, and did absolutely nothing to encourage his uprightness.

When Pasiphae swept into the tent she stopped short in surprise at the sight of Jason standing, and he in turn was startled by her appearance, not expecting a personal visit.

"You are out of bed," she remarked, and cast a critical glance at Agatha who followed behind her.

"It's a miracle," Jason replied coolly.

"Indeed."

Pasiphae pursed her lips, noting Jason's ashen pallor, his lack of vigor, and the strained way that he held himself. He didn't look well and she had hoped for more from her healing spell, cast as soon as the physician had removed the arrow. But then, blood injuries were difficult to predict, difficult to overcome, loss of fluid wreaked havoc on the body and even magic struggled to cure it. Perhaps that he was standing, when so recently he was close to death, was proof enough that the spell had done its job.

In the early hours of the morning she had sat beside Jason, watching him. She didn't want anyone in the camp to know of her visit, his presence and care was already hard to explain, but it was a rare opportunity to be able to study him unnoticed. The memories of her lost boy were so vague. She had observed him by flicker of candlelight, looking for familiarity, and found some, in the fullness of his lips, and the length of his eyelashes. Such a beautiful baby she remembered people saying.

As she had admired her unaware child her icicled heart thawed a little, dead emotion stirred, and she had longed to stroke his hair, or whisper encouragement. But it didn't feel natural, her grown son was too much of a stranger. The most she could bring herself to do was place a hand over his, and even that had felt strange, his hands were so large. She had wondered about his life, where he grew up, who had been mother to him. She knew so little. And her mind had wandered to what might have been had he not been snatched away. They would have been close, the two of them, she was sure of it. They would have explored exotic places, shared interesting stories, laughed at jokes only they understood. She would have loved him fiercely, and he would have adored her. She would have made him proud of his Colchean heritage, a tribe that was strong and fierce and widely feared. And she would have introduced him to magic, complimented his physical acuity to make him unbeatable, infallible.

When she left, spending no more than half an hour by his side, she had felt a little depressed, with an undercurrent of anger. And she was annoyed at herself for indulging in such pointless and aching introspection. She had cursed Aeson with renewed venom for taking her son, so much had been lost. But she couldn't quell a glimmer of possibility, that Jason might be drawn in to her life, that they may be able to align their paths and right some of the wrong that had been done.

Jason shifted his weight uncomfortably, rested his second hand on the back of the chair and wished he was sitting down because gravity seemed to be pulling at him earnestly.

"Would you like some help?" Pasiphae offered.

At first Jason didn't realise he was being addressed, his eyes were cast down, and when he saw the enquiring expression was aimed at him he stammered, "Uh, no. Just ..stay where you are."

Hearing Pasiphae other than adversarial was off putting, he really didn't know how to respond. He felt awkward about her exhibiting any sort of concern for him, he would have felt more at ease if she produced a knife and threatened to kill him. After a moment he realized she probably wasn't suggesting _she_ would help him, more likely she would call a guard or have Agatha attend to him, but it was still disconcerting.

"You seem unsteady," she persisted.

"You are mistaken."

_Keep your distance,_ he thought. _Everybody stay in their corner._

Pasiphae gave him a wan smile. "I have brought you a shirt."

In fact Agatha brought the shirt, Pasiphae gestured to it like a spokesmodel, something white and long sleeved, not to his taste.

"Okay," Jason said suspiciously. There was no reason for Pasiphae to personally deliver him a shirt, and he waited for her to reveal the true purpose of her visit.

"You might show more gratitude," Pasiphae retorted with a sniff. "I have both saved your life and now clothed you."

Jason frowned. His suspicion was only heightened by a display of kindness. "Yes, you have." There was accusation in his tone rather than gratitude. "Why?"

She tilted her head. "Because I consider your life worth saving." It was an intentionally dissatisfying response.

"No," Jason shook his head cautiously, careful not to provoke the dizziness. "That's not good enough. I would like to know what my life is worth to you."

"It is worth nothing," she dismissed.

"Then why did you save me?"

"Because I am generous and kind."

He snorted his disagreement. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing." She blushed unintentionally, momentarily flustered by sentiment, by the feebleness of wanting _a relationship_.

"I think you want something," he said, low and mistrustful.

"Enough. Enough. I will not be interrogated."

He was persistent, she thought. And curious. But she was in no hurry to reveal the secret of their kinship, because she had an idea of how the knowledge would be received. Very badly. She wasn't ready to endure his disappointment at finding out she was his mother. He would be appalled. And already that was hurtful. It was why she wanted to spend some time with him, this opportunity, him being delivered to camp, could not have been more fortuitous. If he learned a little about her, got an insight into her true nature, perhaps discovering she was his mother wouldn't be the worst news of his life.

Pasiphae was agitated, annoyed at herself for losing her aloofness. She turned to Agatha and said tersely, "Help him on with the shirt."

Jason sucked in a breath and his eyes widened, horrified at the idea of Pasiphae watching him try to wrestle on a shirt. She knew he was injured but he had no desire for her to witness just how unwell he felt, how much pain he was in. He was pretty sure he couldn't raise his arms above his head and slipping on a shirt was going to be undignified and ungraceful, and a humiliation he did not want to share with his enemy.

"You may leave us," Jason directed to the queen.

Pasiphae looked confused, like she hadn't heard clearly. "I beg your pardon?"

Jason raised a stiff halting hand to Agatha, shuffled a step away from her, gazed steadily at Pasiphae and said, "You have delivered the shirt and now you may leave us."

Pasiphae was flabbergasted by the insolence. Her mouth parted slightly as her quick temper came to the fore. "I think you forget yourself," she snapped. "How dare you dismiss me like I am a servant. You shall address me with the proper deference or I will see you in chains."

"You are not my queen," Jason responded, his own anger flashing. "You may expect no deference from me. I will address you as I choose."

Any softness of feeling Pasiphae may have felt for him was overwhelmed by how deeply insulting his attitude was.

"Guard," she called, an automatic reaction after such audacity, but once the soldier was at her side, she was unwillingly to order _put him in a cage _which is what the behaviour deserved and instead said, "Restrain him," with a nod toward Jason. The soldier bowed his head respectfully and hurried out to collect the necessary equipment.

Pasiphae put her hands on her hips, unhappy with the turn of events. "Why must you provoke me?" she muttered bitterly, loud enough for Jason to hear.

He gave a soft scornful laugh. "It is the nature of our relationship."

She flicked her brows up and down, acknowledging the truth of it, they did tend to irritate each other.

"It doesn't need to be. Whatever our interaction in the past, it was never personal," she offered, but then averted her gaze contritely because it had on occasion been personal. When she considered him a rival to Heptarian for Ariadne's affection she had stuck pins in his effigy with the intention of killing him. That was pretty personal. "Perhaps we can start afresh."

"Whatever it is you want from me, you won't receive it."

They glared at each other, seeking the mental upper-hand until the guard returned with chains. Pasiphae put a hand on the soldier's chest, holding him back for a moment.

"You would do well to recover your manners," she advised the injured man. "You make things much harder than they need to be."

She gathered her heavy cloak at the skirt and strode out of the tent so that she wouldn't have to witness her injured son being manhandled into chains.

Jason could offer little resistance as the guard slapped a cuff on each wrist and tethered it to the tent pole in the centre of the space. He considered reaching for the man's sword, but his heart wasn't really in it, all the guard would need do was push him and he would fall. The best the injured man could do was stare icily at the soldier, let him know with his eyes that he would kill him if he got the chance. The guard treated him a little more roughly than was required, and Jason considered it message received.

After the guard left, Jason sat with his legs in front of him on the floor, and Agatha released a deep breath. "That was foolish," she chided, with a coldness that reminded Jason she was not his friend. "I have seen men executed for less."

As Jason rattled the manacles, first at his wrists, then attached to the pole, he had to agree. His behaviour was ill thought out, it would have been much better to keep his mouth shut and maintain peace. Now, his escape from the Colchean camp was subject to a degree of difficulty he could have done without.

* * *

"Perhaps we should split up," Hercules ventured.

"No," Dion returned quickly. "If we split up we may never find each other again."

The big man blew out a breath. "Well we can't go on like this. We've been searching for hours. Just how far could one man get on foot?"

"Jason has been lost for twenty four hours," Pythagoras pointed out. "He could be anywhere."

Hercules gazed skyward, as if seeking strength from the Gods, then dropped his attention back to Pythagoras as he remembered, "No. The Oracle said to return to where we last saw him. He's around here somewhere."

Dion drew in a long, dissatisfied breath. It was becoming clear to him that they could search for days and still not find Jason. He'd been full of confidence before embarking on the enterprise, assuring the queen that her favourite citizen would be found, but he realized now that he hadn't fully appreciated the vastness of the forest. And not just the vastness, but the number of rocks, bushes, caves, gullies that could hide an injured man. The search was painstakingly slow and inefficient.

And he couldn't help thinking about what else he might be doing. The safety of Atlantis was still precarious. A marauding army had been defeated (barely), but the city was still in ruins, a young inexperienced queen was at the helm, and a prince with a dubious nature was pressing for the throne. As much as he esteemed Jason, and he really did, he held him in the utmost regard, there were better ways Dion could be using his time than in a fruitless search. He had tried to suggest that to Queen Ariadne, that there were other skilled men who could lead a search for Jason, but she had been unwilling to entertain it, insistent on him making the trip.

"Lets continue," Dion said impatiently.

"Actually, I'm feeling a bit peckish," Hercules said, and gave his companions a bright smile, hoping to encourage them to feel similarly. He was disappointed. Dion looked annoyed. Pythagoras looked at him with disgust. But Hercules felt justified, they'd been on the move for hours and his energy needed replenishing, not like Pythagoras who seemed to have the physiology of a bird, subsisting on intermittent nuts and grains. The lack of agreement turned Hercules smile into a scowl. "I'm not talking about a three course meal. Can we just take a few minutes for me to eat..." he fumbled for something that he could eat quickly, "an apple." He scrunched up his face. Why would he suggest an apple?

"An apple?" Pythagoras repeated. "Do you know what an apple looks like?"

"Yes," Hercules returned. "I have seen an apple. In my life. Many years ago."

Dion sighed. More delay. But he had to admit it was many hours since they had hurriedly consumed a midday meal, dusk could only be an hour away. "Far be it for me to deny you an apple," he offered, with light humor and dismounted his horse, leading it toward Hercules.

The big man wrinkled his brow. "I don't know that I actually have an apple, it was just a figure of speech."

Pythagoras rolled his eyes. His mood was disagreeable. Lack of sleep, a frustrating search and acute worry made him feel punchy and unkind. He bit back the nasty words he wanted to vent at his friend, slid off his horse and marched away from his companions, trying to work away the soreness that days in the saddle had embedded into his thighs, and compose himself to be better company.

"He's tired," Hercules muttered to Dion as they tied their horses to the same tree. "And afraid. He's not usually so grouchy."

Dion nodded. Even without knowing Pythagoras very well, he was aware the man wasn't usually so ill tempered. He followed the blond with his eyes to make sure he didn't storm out of sight.

Hercules retrieved the pack containing food from Pythagoras's mount and sat on a nearby tree root. He winced as the wood pressed against tender buttocks and shifted onto the leafy ground instead. "I have bread, cheese and wine," Hercules offered to Dion, and waited for the soldier to make an offer in return. Turns out the queen had requested Dion carry enough food for all three of them, another generous flourish, and a very pleasant surprise at lunch time.

Dion rifled through his pack. "I have dried fish, olives, grapes, cheese, figs, nuts, some sort of meat."

"Bring it all," Hercules instructed, his mouth watering. Never did they eat so well, with such variety.

"We need to make it last," Dion rebuked, fairly certain Hercules could eat three days worth of food in one sitting. He pulled out a couple of lidded bowls and sat on the forest floor beside Hercules, taking the lids off the bowls as an invitation to start. Hercules was not shy about digging in, and Dion wondered idly if stress was increasing his appetite or if he always ate so voraciously.

"Should we call him to eat?" Dion gestured with his head vaguely in the direction of Pythagoras.

"No. He'll come when he's ready. He doesn't really need food."

Dion picked absently at the feast, consuming with restraint, while he considered how best to proceed with the mission. Their current method had them all on horseback, spread about twenty feet apart, eyes fixed on the forest floor, and he wondered if there was a more efficient way to proceed, two on horseback one on foot perhaps, or spread further apart.

"How long are we going to search?" Hercules asked quietly.

Dion glanced sharply at the man and reluctantly revealed, "I have been instructed to return in no more than three days."

"What if we don't find Jason in three days?"

Dion straightened uncomfortably. "The Queen will be very disappointed if I don't return with Jason." He clenched his jaw, unsure how he would break the news to the regent if he returned without her favourite. It would probably result in private tears and he would very much prefer to avoid inflicting such misery.

Pythagoras stalked over to where his companions sat. "Had your fill of apples?" he asked snidely, then shook his head regretfully because his partners had done nothing to provoke such malice, and he really needed to rein in his bad mood. "Sorry."

"Olives," Hercules said brightly. "You love olives. Why don't you have some?"

"No. I mean yes, I love olives, but - can you smell smoke?"

Dion's head whipped to attention as he sniffed the air. He stood up to follow the breeze, strode away a few paces. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes, I smell smoke." He looked sternly at his companions, wanting to temper any hope they may entertain. "It is probably bandits," he suggested, "but we should investigate."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Remember when I said this story had suffered from the Grey Sisters? This is the chapter that suffered most and required extensive rewrite. Even now I hope it is not too repetitive of the episode, or too jarring in its difference.

And just a note that I took extensive liberties with Pasiphae's family background. No doubt the show will delight in making a fool of my assumptions at some point in the future, lol.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

It was difficult to find a comfortably reclined position with hands restrained. Jason shifted on the bed and cursed his limited options, he couldn't lay on his back because it put too much pressure on his injury, he couldn't lay on his stomach because it resulted in his hands underneath him and he couldn't lay on his right side because the chain wouldn't quite reach that far, so he could only lay on his left, and after hours in that position his whole side was either numb or itchy and gave him no choice but to sit up for a while. It could be worse, he thought, he could be laying on the dirt floor. After being tethered to the pole he found that the slack in the chain was just enough to reach the edge of the cot with his foot, pull it closer with his toes. The acrobatics were no easy task for an injured man, and it felt like a small victory when he finally collapsed on top of it, grateful for the modest comfort it provided.

Agatha had abandoned him soon after the altercation with Pasiphae. It was hardly even an altercation, barely an exchange of words, but Agatha had looked at him differently after, she realised he was not a friend to the Colcheans and had immediately distanced herself. She had given his injury one last cursory inspection and fled, presumably back to her queen. Jason felt a bit sorry about that. It was true that he was not a Colchean sympathiser but she had been kind, and he wasn't the sort to dislike a person without provocation. It was one of the problems he had in this time, everyone had such clear lines about who their enemies were, where their loyalties lay, but he needed direct provocation to figure it out, he was slightly burdened by _benefit of the doubt_.

Jason slept for most of the day. There was nothing else for him to do, other than plot his escape and he did a fair amount of that too, although he faltered at the first hurdle, how to remove the cuffs, there was nothing within reach that might solve the problem. Such a languorous day was a luxury he would not ordinarily have afforded himself, and by the afternoon he felt much stronger, his injury became a manageable discomfort.

Just before dusk a guard entered the tent and advised that the queen requested his presence. He was ordered to dress, which meant putting on the shirt Pasiphae had brought earlier, lain in disuse because he could not put it on over the restraints. The guard threw a key, which landed at his feet, and stood with his sword drawn as Jason unlocked the cuffs at his wrist.

Unrestrained, there was a second when Jason considered rushing the guard. A reckless voice in his head said _you could take him_. But immediately there was another voice pointing out that the guard had his sword already drawn, while he was defenseless. It urged patience, and it seemed the more sensible strategy.

Putting on the shirt was ungraceful, as he expected. He would have killed for a buttoned shirt, something which didn't require him to raise his hands above the shoulder. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and then had to pause a moment to figure out how to manoeuvre the shirt over his head, a combination of bowing low and persevering through the pain. The guard looked very smug at his efforts and Jason had the urge to run him through with his sword and then hand him a shirt to put on.

Looking presentable, and secretly marvelling at the softness of the shirt, another set of cuffs was thrown at his feet. There wasn't even an order that he put them on, it apparently went without saying. _Walking cuffs? _Jason mused_. _The Colcheans appeared to have a different set of restraints for difference circumstances. The chain on this new cuff was much shorter than on the restraint he had been wearing, he would not be able to move one hand without the other following. He snapped them over his wrists reluctantly, held them up for the soldier to see it was properly done, and was escorted out of the tent.

They walked through the makeshift town, and Jason noted that Pasiphae's army had increased since he had last been at her camp, the rows of white huts extended beyond his previous experience.

He was directed into a tent which found Pasiphae and Medea sitting at a dining table that could comfortably seat about eight. There was food on the table, a lavish selection of fruit, bread and cheese, and only recently laid judging by the lack of any of it on the women's plates.

Pasiphae sat at the head of the table and Medea to her right. Medea looked I'll at ease, she kept her head down to avoid eye contact.

Jason was prodded toward the chair at Pasiphae's left and forcibly pushed into it by the guard.

"What do you want?" Jason asked bluntly.

Pasiphae raised her brows at him and said coolly, "I see you have not regained your manners."

He pressed his lips together, and didn't reply.

"Remove the restraints," Pasiphae ordered the guard.

The soldier knelt before Jason and keyed the locks at his wrist, and it was Jason's turn to look smug. He murmured low enough for only the guard to hear, "You know who this will end badly for?" The guard looked unsettled and quickly stood to attention tucking the cuffs into his uniform.

Jason rubbed absently at his wrists, and Pasiphae announced, "I thought we might share a meal."

He stared at her in disbelief. "You're joking?"

"I am not," she returned, with a grim set to her jaw that indicated she didn't expect it to be entirely pleasant.

Just the idea of sharing a meal with his enemies made Jason feel traitorous. He rose from the chair, instinct telling him he needed to leave, but before he was at full height there were hands at his shoulders roughly forcing him downward, and he landed back on the seat with a jolt that went all the way up his painful spine. He blinked long and exhaled a controlled breath to overcome the spike of pain.

"We are not friends," he cried in anger and frustration. "We are not allies. You are…" he searched for a suitably descriptive word, and settled on, "despicable. I will not share a meal with you."

Medea glared at him, her loyalty written clearly on her face, and she expertly produced a small knife from her skirt, resting it on the table under her hand. It was a threat to him but also, he thought, an opportunity if he could snatch it from her.

Pasiphae drew in an annoyed breath, "You will share a meal and you will do it with civility or I will have no hesitation in confining you to a cage."

She would in fact have hesitation, but he didn't need to know that.

Jason could not follow Pasiphae's train of thought. What might be gained from sitting at a table together? Did she think he might be tempted away from Atlantis, from Ariadne? Did she perhaps believe that Telemon being betrothed to Ariadne had challenged his loyalty? Did she think he might spill royal secrets? Because he had none.

"You fail to recognize the opportunity that is presented," Pasiphae said in a more conciliatory tone. "Perhaps we could take the time to get to know each other better."

"Why?" Jason growled.

"Because it might benefit us both." She regarded him thoughtfully. "Why are we enemies?"

Jason looked at Pasiphae uncertainly, it seemed a strange shift in the conversation. "Because you attacked Atlantis."

"How does that make _us_ enemies?"

Jason frowned, the answer seemed evident. "Because I am loyal to Atlantis."

"Would you be loyal if I were queen?"

"Never," Jason returned, voice low and defiant.

"So your loyalty isn't just to Atlantis, it is to its current queen. Correct?"

Jason averted his gaze uncomfortably, unwilling to participate in any conversation that involved Ariadne.

"So with very little effort I have established that your greatest weakness is your loyalty to Atlantis and to Ariadne. In order to coerce your cooperation I need only threaten either one of those."

"Don't you dare," Jason returned dangerously and his eyes dropped to the knife under Medea's hand, his fingers itching to reach for it.

Pasiphae flicked her wrist dismissively. "You are merely proving my point. You see what might be learned from a few questions?" She ignored his scowl. "Are you loyal to another city?"

Jason's brow wrinkled in offence. "No."

"You didn't grow up in Atlantis. Are you not fond of your childhood city?"

His mind wandered to modern London. It was a great city. He probably appreciated it more in absentia than when he lived there. He'd always been searching for something growing up, for family, for answers, for purpose and it hadn't allowed him to enjoy what was around. In hindsight he could see how much the city had to offer but still, he never felt the belonging that he did in Atlantis. Perhaps because Atlantis is where searching ended and living began.

Pasiphae watched him closely. "Well?" she prompted.

"I have no interest in sharing my childhood with you," Jason returned.

"Why is that?" the woman pressed. "Was it unhappy?"

"It is none of your business," Jason snapped.

"Hmm." Pasiphae tapped a finger against her lips, considering. "I think it was unhappy. I think you might have been a lonely child..."

"And what about you?" he interrupted fiercely, cutting off any further speculation about his unfortunate childhood. "Desperate for a city that doesn't want you. You already have royalty in Colchis, why do you need a second crown?"

"My brother owns the crown of Colchis, and he does not want me in his court."

"That is not true, aunt," Medea piped up, distress in her features. "Your brother would welcome you in his court."

Pasiphae smiled at her naivety. "No my dear, he wouldn't. It is why he throws money and men at the quest for Atlantis."

Huh, that's interesting, Jason thought, maybe there was something to this _getting to know you_ business. He had assumed Pasiphae found money for her army by looting everyone in her path but it made sense that she had financial backing. No wonder she found soldiers so easily, they were ordered to her by their king.

"Tell me about your mother," Pasiphae changed the subject, returning her attention to Jason.

"Tell me about yours," he challenged.

She gave a wan smile, exasperated by his deflections. "Alright. My mother had eight children, and she didn't much care for the girls, she saved her love for my brothers..."

Oh God, it was excruciating, Jason really didn't want to hear about Pasiphae's sad upbringing, he didn't want to feel any sympathy for her. They were enemies and he much preferred to keep it simple.

"Ok, stop," he said, shaking his head. "I really don't need to know. Tell me instead why you have Medea at your side. In fact," he gazed at Medea, "_you_ tell me, why you were drawn into this mad quest for the throne of Atlantis. What's in it for you?"

Medea looked at her aunt uncertainly, seeking silent permission to speak, and at Pasiphae's small nod began, "I was mostly shunned by my family..."

She had a sad story too? Jason pressed fingers into the corner of his eyes. What was with this family? They were royalty, it should have been jewels and ponies and whatever the heart desired.

Unwilling to endure the confessions of his enemies any further, Jason stood up suddenly and elbowed the guard behind his chair in the face. The man cried out in pain and staggered back a few steps clutching his nose. Jason looked around wildly for his next move and decided there was no point fleeing to the door, it would only deliver him into the arms of more soldiers, better to disarm the one man in front of him, and figure out his next move from there. He took a few steps away from his chair, so that Medea couldn't reach across the table and knife him, but a quick glance in their direction saw the women rooted to their seats in horror. Jason narrowed his eyes at the bleeding soldier, flicked his brows up and down daring the man to advance and the guard drew his sword with a violent tug and rushed at Jason.

"No!" Pasiphae yelled, half rising in her chair with a hand outstretched.

Jason swung his head to look at her, alarmed by the anguish in her voice. Their eyes met, and her fear was obvious, but he couldn't quite determine who she feared for. He turned back to his opponent and discovered the man had completely ignored his queen's cry, Jason barely managed to tip a chair in front of him to arrest his progress. His heart sank at the sound of urgent footsteps in the doorway, soldiers drawn by their queen's shout.

He turned to face them, three soldiers with their swords drawn, and with hands raised submissively in front of him said, "It's fine. Everything's fine."

The hilt of a sword smashed into his skull from behind and knocked him into unconsciousness.

* * *

The Atlantean general gazed with dismay at the entire Colchean army, or what remained after their defeat, which was still imposing, camped no more from a day away from his city. It could not be coincidence, he thought. It could not bode well for Atlantis. And he had received no advice that they were so close. He itched to return to the city. It was a development that needed consideration, the Queen needed to know.

"Jason is in there," Hercules declared with certainty.

Dion was pulled out of his thoughts by the big man's voice. "In a Colchean camp?" he replied dubiously. "Colcheans don't keep prisoners."

"He's in there," Pythagoras agreed.

Dion shifted his focus away from the camp to his two weary companions, both of them swaying slightly with exhaustion. "How can you be so sure?"

"Just a feeling," Hercules replied mildly, unwilling to reveal anything about Pasiphae being Jason's mother, or her offer to him to be her second in command, both of which could give the impression that Jason might be conspiring with the enemy.

"Your feeling is wrong," Dion returned harshly. "If Jason was found by Colcheans then he is a corpse. And we should return to Atlantis and tell the queen of the army camped at her doorstep."

"The Oracle said Jason was alive," Hercules pointed out.

"Then he is not in that camp," the general replied logically.

Hercules gazed helplessly at Pythagoras, lifting his shoulders in silent plea for a persuasive argument, a valid reason that they should enter the camp.

"Perhaps you are right," Pythagoras said slowly. "Perhaps you should return to Atlantis and warn them of the danger, and we will continue the search for Jason."

Dion wasn't a fool. He knew exactly what the man was suggesting, that he leave quietly and allow them to enter the camp without further argument. He stretched his neck, working out some of the tension that had formed into kinks.

"I can't do that," Dion conceded through gritted teeth. The queen wanted Jason found. If he returned to the palace and advised her of the enemy army nearby her first question would be _and where is Jason?_

Or perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he did her an injustice by underestimating her concern with affairs of state. He just didn't know her well enough. It had been a trial by fire for the young queen, and she had acquitted herself admirably but there were still many sides to her that Dion had not seen, she'd only been regent a few short months, and he really didn't know what might be the reaction if he returned to the palace without fulfilling her orders.

"Okay, listen," Hercules said. "We're going in there to look for Jason. And it might be suicide." He tipped his head. "It is probably suicide, so there is no obligation for you to join us. In fact, it might be better if you didn't join us, so you could continue the search for Jason after our deaths."

"It is suicide," Dion agreed. "Foolishness beyond measure."

He scrubbed a hand down his face and knew he was going to accompany them. And it occurred to him that his companions had already done this once, infiltrated the Colchean camp, when it was at full capacity, to recover the palladium. It didn't make the adventure seem less dangerous but it did give him some confidence that they might possibly escape alive.

"This is what we are going to do," Dion said authoritatively, "we are going to set up camp a distance away and you two will sleep for a few hours. Then, when night is darkest, we'll enter the camp and see if we can locate Jason."

"Sounds good to me," Hercules replied, at the same time as Pythagoras commented, "That sounds quite sensible."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"He is not ready for your kindness," Medea offered gently, trying to console her aunt who had looked steadfastly down with clenched jaw, and not at her unmoving son as he was bundled roughly out of the room. "You need to give it some time."

Pasiphae flattened her lips, annoyed by the platitude, offended by it. "How much time do you suggest I give it? A week? A year? Just when do you expect that we shall be best friends?"

Her niece drew back at the sharpness, eyes glistened with hurt and Pasiphae clamped her back teeth together, some remorse for lashing out at her closest companion. With less bite she added, "I fear it is hopeless."

Medea stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth, kept her eyes firmly averted, reluctant to offer anything that might add fuel to the fire, or cause the fire to be directed at her.

"I wish I knew how to show him another side," Pasiphae lamented. "He thinks of me as a monster and I'm not. I've only ever done what was necessary."

She drummed an impatient finger on the table while she considered, and Medea recognized _that_ was her aunt's biggest problem, patience, she didn't have it, she wanted what she wanted and she wanted it now. Trying to persuade someone gently was not a strength.

"Perhaps it's time to tell him you're his mother," Medea suggested.

Pasiphae's face wrinkled in disagreement. "No, I fear it would only make things worse."

"Could it be worse?" Medea posed the serious question in a light tone.

Pasiphae pursed her lips in angry frustration and clipped, "I don't know. I really don't know how bad it could get or if this is the worst of it."

Both women lapsed into silence. The queen brooded as she mistreated some bread and cheese, very little of it finding her mouth, while Medea ached for the meal to be over. She wasn't a conversationalist, and was uncomfortable being party to her aunt's dilemma, especially when Pasiphae wasn't sympathetic to the opinion of others. But she couldn't leave the table, even as niece to the queen there were protocols to follow. She resolutely put some food in her mouth and wished her aunt would do the same so that they could draw the meal to a close.

"Maybe you should speak to him."

Medea met her aunt's eyes, then furrowed her brow when she realised what was being asked. "What? No. How could that help?"

"I have tried, Medea. I have tried to be civilized and pleasant to Jason, but there is too much history between us and he is unwilling to hear what I say." She reached out a hand and stroked it down Medea's arm. "He'll listen to you."

"No he won't," Medea scoffed. "I am your protégé. You and I are the same to him."

"Not at all. You are of a similar age to Jason, I believe he would be much more open to conversing with you. He would probably welcome the company."

Medea shut her eyes tightly, wanting desperately to say no, it was an awful idea, and something she didn't want to get involved in. She had no illusions that Jason would _welcome the company_, she expected him to be just as hostile to her as he was to Pasiphae, it was destined to be an unpleasant task. But her aunt was hard to say no to. Or perhaps it was that Medea didn't want to disappoint her.

"What would I say to him?"

"Just talk. Form a bond. You don't have to speak of anything in particular," Pasiphae cajoled. "If you could foster some warmth in him, some understanding, then perhaps we will not have to consider our options."

Medea looked at her aunt suspiciously. "What options? What do you mean?"

Pasiphae straightened, regarded her niece evenly. "Jason cannot return to Atlantis. Clearly. He is touched by the Gods, I cannot have one so powerful oppose us. So either he becomes friend or," she dipped her head, "we must consider our options."

"You would... kill him?" Medea exclaimed breathlessly. "Your own son?"

Pasiphae's expression steeled. "I would do what I must to win the Atlantis crown."

It was a bluff. Surely. Pasiphae couldn't seriously entertain killing her own son. Medea peered at her aunt trying to judge from her expression and body language whether she really meant it and decided that she couldn't tell. It was shocking, the possibility that power may be more valuable than flesh and blood. Medea accepted brutality as a necessity, she had been conditioned to it, but this would be too much. Because if Pasiphae would sacrifice her own son to her ambition, then perhaps she would sacrifice Medea too if the circumstances required it, and it meant loyalty and love was just an illusion. The young woman couldn't believe it was true, and drew the conclusion that her aunt was deluding herself.

But it was no reason to ignore Pasiphae's wishes.

* * *

Jason was disoriented by the dim light when he woke. For a moment he didn't know where he was, and the pounding in his head made him panic, he'd been attacked, and there was a clutch in his chest as he wondered about his friends, what condition they were in.

But then it flooded back to him. Colcheans. A meal with Pasiphae. Picking a fight. He chuckled to himself, let relief settle over him, because everyone was okay. Relatively. As far as he knew.

He brought up a hand to scrub through his unruly hair, checking for blood on his skull, and felt the familiar weight of restraints on his wrist. _Luxury cuffs_, he thought, back in the restraints that allowed some freedom of movement, tethered to something. He wondered if he was back in the room he started in, he couldn't tell in the dark. He was laying on the ground, sand sticking to his face, small rocks pressing into his ribs and he slowly brought his legs up underneath him, splayed his hands on the ground to push against, and shifted to a sitting position.

"Are you alright?"

Jason drew in a startled breath and whipped his head around, wincing only slightly at the discomfort, skilled at hiding pain. Just inside the entrance and shrouded in shadow he could make out a standing figure, but not who it was.

"Agatha?" But he knew that wasn't right, the proportions didn't match.

The woman bent down, groped outside the entrance and produced a lit lantern, and the flickering light revealed a blushing, uncomfortable Medea. She took a hesitant step toward him, then had second thoughts about getting closer and dropped to the ground to sit cross legged, well outside the range of his restraints. She reached forward and placed the lantern on the dirt so that the light was between them.

"What are you doing here?" Jason's question didn't have the same venom as he might have uttered it to Pasiphae. He was puzzled by her presence, a little intrigued.

"I brought you something to eat." She twisted around to retrieve the plate of food she had brought, then reached as far forward as she could whilst sitting and deposited it in front of him, near the lantern. "You didn't eat anything at the meal and Pasiphae was worried about you."

"I doubt it," he returned, adding in a bitter undertone, "perhaps worried about her commodity."

Medea frowned. "I don't understand."

Jason shrugged, a little put out that he needed to explain himself and said curtly, "I am a thing, an object, that holds some value to Pasiphae. She wouldn't be worried about _me_ per se."

Medea looked at him in surprise. "You're more than that," she uttered genuinely.

"Forget it," Jason dismissed irritably, his comment misdirected, addressed to the wrong person. Medea was incapable of seeing the truth about Pasiphae. If she had been by Pasiphae's side for the last year then she had already accepted and forgiven too much. "Well, you've seen me. I haven't wasted away. Go and report back to your _queen_."

There was hard emphasis on the last because they both knew Pasiphae wasn't, that she had squandered the title, not content with being the woman behind the man, seeking power of her own.

"Do you hate her so much?" Medea asked with dismay, without any heat in the words.

Jason upturned his hands. It was a pointless question. He and Pasiphae were rivals, with opposing views, each of them determined to force their result, his feelings about her were irrelevant.

"She has done terrible things," he answered, and his thoughts went immediately to the brazen bull, the inhumanity of it, and Pasiphae's determination that Ariadne should suffer an agonizing death in it. It was the most prominent of the many reasons that he disliked the woman.

"Haven't we all," Medea returned, shame in her voice as she searched his face for understanding and solidarity.

"Uh. Not really."

Jason felt unkind brushing aside her confession, and his curiosity burned to know what Medea had done that was so terrible, she seemed too young and timid to have done much, but he didn't want to be tarred with the same brush.

Medea looked away, acutely embarrassed. "Oh. Then you are a better person than I."

"I think it's the company you keep."

"It's family," she said, and lifted her shoulders in a long shrug. "You do what is required."

"I wouldn't," he mumbled, although he wasn't really sure what she meant, what she was referring to. And it was a kettle of fish he didn't want to open. He didn't feel like admitting that he knew nothing of family or what they drove you to do, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't be coerced into doing something immoral.

After an awkward silence, where they each looked anywhere but at each other, he said, "You know, you could remove these cuffs and I promise not to hurt you."

She smiled at his bravado, and found that she kind of trusted him, believed he wouldn't hurt her.

"You may not hurt me but you might use me as leverage to make your escape."

He dropped his chin to his chest in shy amusement. "That doesn't sound like something I would do." He recovered his seriousness to ask, "Am I a prisoner then? Because it's hard to tell. My life is saved but there is a guard at the door. I'm kept in chains but I'm invited to dinner. Is it a Colchean custom to confuse outsiders?"

Medea chuckled, admitting, "The whole camp is confused by your treatment."

"And what do you tell them?"

She looked at him blankly. "Nothing. They must follow their queen's orders. They don't need to understand why."

Jason gave a short laugh. "You just keep them guessing?"

"Yes."

Medea wasn't sure why it was funny, but she liked his easy humor and was disappointed that it passed quickly.

"What about you? Does Pasiphae talk to you? Tell you her plans?"

"Mostly," she replied cautiously.

"Then why am I here? What does Pasiphae want from me?"

The young woman sighed, preferring to talk of things other than her aunt. "She only wants you to listen to her. She just wants you to see that there is more to her than being an enemy."

Jason scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, trying to find meaning in the explanation and couldn't. "Why? It doesn't matter how I see her, or what I think of her. I have no influence in Atlantis. There is nothing to be gained from changing my opinion, so why keep me?"

Medea gave a faint shrug, but gazed at him with troubled eyes. There was more, he could tell, there was more to his captivity, but she was keeping it to herself.

"How long am I to be held?"

"I don't know," she lied. "But is it all bad? You are not being tortured or threatened, would it be so bad to stay for a while?"

The bar for a pleasant sojourn must be set very low for Colcheans, he thought, if not being threatened or tortured was the benchmark. And the fact that she was talking about an extended stay was pretty clear code for- he was never going to be let go.

"I would prefer to be elsewhere," he answered mildly.

And suddenly there was a lump in his throat as an image came into his head of Hercules and Pythagoras sitting at the meal table at home, bickering and laughing. It threatened to undo him. It was the strangest sensation of being abruptly plummeted into misery and despair. He'd been fine, through the whole ordeal, he'd been stoic and composed, optimistic about escape, but hope suddenly fled, chased out the door by Medea's hint that he would never leave, and it occurred to him that maybe she was right. He was ensconced in an enemy army, injured and chained. Just how exactly did he think he would make his escape? He might never see his friends again, never set foot in his house again, never look upon Ariadne's beautiful face again. There was a crushing pressure in his chest, a burgeoning heat behind his eyes, and for a moment he had trouble drawing a breath. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, determined to keep it all inside, betray nothing of his turmoil to his uninvited guest.

"You miss your home?" Medea asked, and it only made things worse giving words to his feeling. He gave a taut nod of reply. "Tell me about it? Tell me why you love Atlantis."

He wished the candle was closer so that he could blow it out. And really wished Medea wasn't watching, wished he was alone.

"It's not something I can explain," he breathed, and huffed a self conscious laugh as his eyes filled with tears. He forced himself to think of anything else, fighting against Colcheans, sparring against Telemon, anything that might boost his anger and indignation and diminish his longing and loss. And he told himself that the time for despair was passed, the time for despair would have been when he was sinking to the ground with an arrow in his back, not now, when he was getting stronger. He'd been in worse situations than this and found his way back to Atlantis. Hadn't he? All he had to do was break out of the chains and he was as good as home. Right?

He just couldn't quite convince himself.

Medea blinked at him. The light was just enough to see his eyes shimmer, and at first she thought it was an act, that he was trying to manipulate her sympathy, perhaps with a view to pleading for his freedom. But he remained quiet, didn't plead for anything, looked steadfastly at the ground with a slight frown and sank into his thoughts. He looked young, and vulnerable, and heartbreakingly sad, not the confident warrior she was used to seeing. And it affected her. She felt badly for him and was surprised by it. He was an enemy, his unhappiness should have been pleasing. But it wasn't. He didn't feel like an enemy, he felt like her cousin.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yes." He shook his head in embarrassment, mortified by the weakness, swiped a hand roughly across his eyes. "It's just been a tough few days."

She couldn't look at him, couldn't bear his unexpected sincerity when she was being false, passing time with him out of duty, on an errand for Pasiphae. She stood up quickly.

"I'm sorry," she muttered awkwardly. "You must be tired. I should go." And she exited the tent with unnecessary haste.

* * *

Dion was dressed for battle, sharpening his sword, and was struck by how different this night was to one when he last faced the Colchean army. Then it had been fire and arrows and panic and hopelessness, now it was calm and peaceful, light breeze tickling his face, night so mild and unassuming. He felt like nature was trying to talk him out of a Colchean incursion. _Enjoy life,_ the night said. _Don't look for trouble. _He'd been on raids before, a long time ago, when he was rising through the army ranks, always at night, and always found it jarring, disturbing the tranquility. He didn't mind fighting, he was always able to justify killing, but imposing upon the calm of nature bothered him, he felt like he was offending the Gods, mocking their serenity, he was much more at ease as a defender than offender.

He glanced at his companions sleeping nearby. Hercules was snoring so loudly he was surprised the Colcheans hadn't investigated. But Pythagoras slept soundly and that could only come with practise and experience. It occurred to him that he could 'forget' to wake his companions, let them sleep until morning and pretend that he had fallen asleep as well. He wasn't convinced Jason was in the Colchean camp, it would be unheard of for them to keep a prisoner. But delay would not solve anything. The men were determined to enter the enemy camp. And he didn't know what to make of their certainty that Jason was within, if it was wishful thinking or something more. It was certainly inconvenient. And a stupid way to die if that's how it panned out. But duty was duty, and if Jason _was_ in the camp, and they managed to steal him away without loss of life, then it would be a glorious victory.

He moved over to his companions and shook first Hercules, then Pythagoras awake.

"It's time."

Both men rubbed the sleep from their eyes and Pythagoras drank deeply from a canteen of water he had by his side before offering it to his friend. Hercules looked at the canteen with slight disgust, preferring it were wine, but took it anyway and drank.

Before the men had settled into sleep there had been discussion of a plan. There wasn't much to it, enter the camp, stay in the shadows and try to find Jason. And stay together. Dion had placed particular emphasis on the last. It would only mean disaster if one of them became separated in the labrynth of tents.

"I'm ready," Hercules said boldly.

Pythagoras flicked an uncertain glance at him. "I wouldn't say I was ready," he demurred. "I don't know how one could be ready to enter an enemy camp. Although it is a comfort that we have done something similar before. I only hope security hasn't been strengthened as a result of that effort. And I am a little concerned that we don't have Jason with us this time. Although, that is the purpose, isn't it?"

"Just get on your horse," Hercules muttered impatiently.

But then he thought he didn't want, what might be his last interaction with Pythagoras to be one of impatience. He walked over to his friend, threw an arm around his shoulders and gave a short, sharp squeeze.

Pythagoras drew back in surprise. "What was that for?"

"Luck."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Medea was angry as she stalked toward her quarters. Angry at Pasiphae for putting her in the middle of the mess with her son. And angry at herself for always trying to prove her loyalty. Why did she keep getting talked into doing things she didn't want to do? She had to learn to say no to her aunt. Say no and mean it.

She stormed into her tent and stopped short when she found her aunt sitting in a chair, waiting for her. _Good_, she thought, _good, _she was ready to vent.

"You should not have sent me to talk with Jason," she upbraided, before Pasiphae could greet her.

Pasiphae's eyes went wide in alarm. "Why. What happened?"

"He was…" _Sweet?_ "He was…" _Genuine? __Likeable? __T_here was no way to end the sentence without it reflecting badly on her. "He has nothing to do with me. Whatever issues you have with Jason are your own."

Pasiphae's expression went stony, not used to being berated, especially by her niece. "Jason affects us all. Do I need to remind you that he was instrumental in our defeat at Atlantis? He is a problem that needs a solution and that is not just personal to me."

Medea was deflated by the logic. Still angry, but now without an avenue to channel it. "Yes, you're right," she conceded, immediately contrite. She loosened the cape at her throat and threw it on the floor with unnecessary force.

"What happened? What did he do?"

"Nothing," Medea muttered, and it sounded false, she felt like she had to explain. "We were talking about Atlantis and he got…" she fluttered her hands, "I don't know, emotional, teary."

Pasiphae stared at her for a moment then burst into laughter. It startled Medea. She knew her aunt could be unfeeling but she had expected her to show compassion for her own son. "Oh my dear. He has played you for a fool. He started crying?" She clapped her hands together in delight. "That is masterful. It sounds like something I would do."

"He wasn't crying," Medea corrected defensively.

"He sized you up beautifully," Pasiphae crowed. "He knew exactly how to make an impression on your soft heart."

"It wasn't like that," Medea protested, annoyed that her aunt was belittling the interaction. And she was wrong. What Jason showed her hadn't been an act or a ploy, she was sure of it. "I am not a complete innocent. It was awkward and unpleasant and I will not do it again."

"Alright Medea, I won't make you talk to him again." There was mockery in her tone and Medea didn't appreciate it. "But what of me? Did the conversation turn to me?"

"Yes, it did," Medea returned coolly. "He dislikes you. Very much." She was deliberately exaggerating, hoping to turn a little hurt back on to Pasiphae.

The queen's lips thinned, humor gone in an instant. "Did he say that?"

"Yes. The word hate was used. He said you had done terrible things and he could never forgive them."

Pasiphae pushed out of the chair and paced in agitation. "That is a problem," she said thoughtfully, pressing fingers against her lips. "I mean, how patient does he think I am? I saved his life and he hates me? That is unacceptable."

"It needs time, aunt," Medea interjected, with a niggling regret about overstating the conversation, starting to wonder about the repercussions. "You have long been rivals, it just needs time to overcome."

"I don't have time Medea. I don't have time to coddle him or smother him in kindness. And frankly I don't have the inclination. He was brought to this camp under the best possible circumstances, I saved his life, and still he thinks of me as a monster? It cannot stand."

"He is a prisoner," Medea pointed out.

"He is being well treated," Pasiphae returned.

"He is kept in chains."

"Because he is our enemy and he is dangerous."

"He had an arrow in his back _yesterday_," Medea said heatedly. "How dangerous could he be?"

Pasiphae gazed at her sharply, mouth slightly ajar. "I will deal with this," she said finally.

Medea felt a cold prickle of dread. "What will you do?"

"It does not concern you," Pasiphae returned with forced calm. "Like you said, Jason is my problem, and I will bring it to the necessary conclusion."

"Our problem. You were right when you said it was our problem." Medea wondered desperately if she could undo the escalation she had just triggered, or perhaps delay it enough for cooler heads to prevail. "Whatever you plan for Jason I would like to be involved."

"No," Pasiphae returned coldly. "You have done enough."

No one dared approach Pasiphae as she exited Medea's quarters. Her expression was dark and ominous and soldiers tripped over themselves to get out of the way. They were familiar with her moods and how dangerous they could be. She was halfway to her tent when she changed her mind, altered her course and headed toward Jason. With each step her fury grew and she was almost explosive by the time she reached her destination, so much so that even she wondered if it was a good idea to confront him in such a state. She pulled up short to compose herself, quell the angry tide inside. She pressed her hands against her hips, breathed deeply, and for the first time wondered what exactly she intended to say to him, what exactly she would accuse him of. Hating her? Of course he did, they had fought on opposite sides of a war. Truth be told, she hated him a little too, for foiling certain victory, for being a formidable foe. She felt a strange mix of hate and pride toward him. Or was she more angry about him scratching at Medea's sympathy, challenging her loyalty? She couldn't quite tell.

"Are you well, your Majesty?" a passing soldier asked in concern.

"Be on your way," she unkindly returned, and the man gave a small tip of the head and scurried off.

By the time she walked through the entrance to Jason's tent she was in control of her emotions, they had dulled to a simmer. She found him perched on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. She paused a moment, with mixed feelings about her son looking hopeless. But he noticed her quickly and his whole bearing changed, his body stiffened, his features hardened. She found that she much preferred it.

"I hear you are not comfortable with your accomodation," she announced primly.

"Comfortable?" he repeated, and she could see a variety of emotions pass over his face, none of them weak, nowhere near defeated. Whatever Medea had seen earlier had passed or was reserved just for her. "I'm a prisoner."

"I have treated you with uncommon courtesy. I saved your life!"

"And you had a reason for it. Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're generous."

"Would you prefer that I return the arrow to your back and leave you in the forest?"

"Yes, I would," he returned fervently. "I would much prefer to be dying in the forest right now."

Pasiphae blinked, silenced, because he meant it. And she got an inkling of how similar they were. Stubborn, willful, fearless and proud. Even without growing up in her company he had inherited some of her best/worst traits. And suddenly she realized why saving his life had done nothing to promote their relationship, because if the positions were reversed she would have felt contempt for her captors, and self loathing for being in their debt.

There was a chair near the corner of the room and she went over and lowered into it.

"We are very much alike," she commented even voiced.

He bristled. "We are nothing alike."

"We are the same person on the opposite sides of a war, and it will not end well. For either of us."

"No it won't," he quietly agreed, and narrowed his eyes at her. "So you should stop. Leave Atlantis alone. The city doesn't want you."

"You are the one in chains," she pointed out. "Perhaps the city doesn't want you."

He looked away. "I won't be in chains for long," he replied, with quiet confidence.

And she couldn't disagree. It was indeed likely that he would find a way out of the chains, and out of her camp, no matter how much she tried to secure him. It irritated her, but she brushed it aside.

"Has it occurred to you that the Gods want you here, with me."

Jason's mouth stretched bitterly. "No."

"In your time of need you were found by Medea. The Gods directed _her_ to find you, not your friends, or allies."

He bit his bottom lip. "It was coincidence. Nothing more."

"There is no coincidence," she scoffed. "The Gods have sent you a clear message and you should listen. I was queen of Atlantis for twenty years, it is my rightful place. You have allowed personal feelings for Ariadne to cloud your judgment. You are fighting for the wrong queen. Perhaps it is you that needs to stop."

"No," he said quietly, but he looked troubled and Pasiphae was pleased that even if Jason didn't want to believe her words, he was considering them.

She gracefully gained her feet. "You are a worthy adversary," she said. "But we should be allies. You are ignoring the signs from above and it will be your undoing."

"I know my destiny," he returned darkly. "And it doesn't involve being friends with you."

"Who said anything about friends?" she returned glibly. They were much more than that.

As as she exited the tent it occurred to Pasiphae that she hadn't really handled anything and she wondered how she was going to admit that to Medea. But she felt a better understanding of her son. And she found that she had convinced herself of her own argument, that the Gods wanted Jason by her side. All signs really did point to it. She hoped Jason would see it too.


	8. Chapter 8

Oh man, I am so bummed that Atlantis won't get a third season! Just for that I'm going to indulge in some more hurt!Jason, because getting shot in the back and knocked on the head wasn't enough. I don't know what it is about Jason suffering that so appeals to me, it might be a sickness. Anyway...

* * *

**Chapter 8**

It was disturbing to Jason that he was thinking about what Pasiphae said. Perhaps it was the solitude, or the lack of distraction, they had never treated him well, but he was stuck on the words _there_ _is__ no coincidence_. He couldn't help feeling it was true. Whether he believed in the Gods or not, it wasn't the issue, he believed in something, fate maybe, one God, whatever it was it gave him an unpleasant suspicion that there really are no coincidences, that everything happens for a reason. And if that were so, what did it mean that he ended up in Pasiphae's camp? What was the universe trying to tell him?

In the end, the only thing that became clear to him was that he had to get away. He needed to remove himself from the situation, and the unwanted kinship he felt for Medea, and the insidious undermining he was subject to from Pasiphae, and any consideration that this is where he was supposed to be. He needed to return to Atlantis and ponder it all with a clear head.

He lay in the dark plotting his exit.

Pasiphae wasn't going to let him go. He couldn't conceive of any scenario that ended with her quietly allowing him to return to Atlantis, his escape was going to have to be violent and unwilling. And he made peace with that. Violence was a way of life in this time and he had an unexpected proficiency for it. Killing and maiming had become so instinctual that he didn't recognize himself sometimes.

But escape was going to be difficult while he remained in chains. He either had to figure out a way to break the lock or lure his captors into freeing him. However it was achieved, once the restraints were removed, he had to take instant advantage, grab hold of a sword and fight. Then keep fighting until he was free, he couldn't relent, because Pasiphae would not be sympathetic if he was recaptured.

As he drifted into sleep he felt the calm of resolve, insecurity fade as he clawed back a semblance of control over his life.

Jason was startled awake by a hand on his shoulder. At first he couldn't tell if it was real or imagined. He flung out a hand and latched onto a wrist (real then) as his eyes flew open, and he gripped hard as his sight adjusted to the dark.

"Ow, that's starting to hurt."

"Pythagoras?" Jason dropped his grip and raised himself to his elbows. "_Pythagoras_?" He couldn't quite believe it.

"It is so good to finally locate you," Pythagoras breathed, relief bleeding from the words. "We have been searching everywhere. Are you well?"

"How did you find me?"

"We looked for a tent with a guard at the entry."

Jason gave a disbelieving laugh, it wasn't exactly what he was asking. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and levered himself to a sitting position.

"You are not well are you?"

"What...?" Jason wasn't sure what his friend was referring to, it seemed impossible that Pythagoras had noticed the slight hitch in his movement in the gloom. "No, I'm good. Really, I'm good."

He felt breathless actually, acutely hopeful and sharply apprehensive. He'd only just been planning his flight from the camp and abruptly it was upon him, ready or not. He had a temptation to laugh because he'd been so certain he would have to fight the Colchean army solo, and all of a sudden the landscape had changed, the odds of escaping had tipped in his favour. And he felt a little overwhelmed that his friends had entered an enemy camp to find him. There was a flutter in his chest, a spring of emotion at the idea that they valued him so highly that they would risk their lives. It was quite humbling.

Jason grabbed a fistful of Pythagoras' shirt at the chest with the intention of hoisting himself to a stand. But Pythagoras was not an immovable object, not like Hercules, and in hindsight he should have warned the man before using him as a counterweight because Pythagoras didn't anticipate it. As Jason pulled on him, the force easily toppled Pythagoras, tipping him onto Jason, and they both ended up sprawled over the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, spluttering and complaining.

"What on Earth?" Hercules exclaimed, as he dragged the guard from the entry unconscious into the tent and dropped him to the ground. "Should I come back later?"

"Help us," Pythagoras said in a strained voice.

Hercules walked over, grabbed Pythagoras' shirt at the collar, and pulled him effortlessly to a stand. He reached down to do the same for Jason and Pythagoras warned, "Be careful."

Hercules shot his friend an irritated glance. "Is he made of glass?"

"He is delicate, yes." Pythagoras returned.

"No, I'm not," Jason hotly denied.

Hercules completed his task, grabbed a handful of Jason's shirt but also put a hand under his shoulder, and lifted him quickly to a stand. Jason in turn, found a grip on Hercules' leather tunic and steadied himself, as he swayed at the too sudden change in position and tried to find a comfortable balance.

"If I could see you properly I would say that you are a sight for sore eyes," Hercules remarked warmly. "But you do seem a bit delicate."

Jason thinned his lips and protested, "I was shot in the back."

"Ah. That explains a lot."

"So enough with the delicate," Jason insisted, genuinely irked by it.

Hercules ruffled his hair. "You poor delicate boy. What an ordeal."

"Are you badly injured?" Pythagoras sounded worried.

"It's..." Jason shook his head impatiently, "fine." And quickly changed the subject. "I haven't been able to get these restraints off, I don't suppose you brought something that might help."

It was too dark for Pythagoras to clearly see the restraints, he ran his fingers over the cuffs to figure out how they worked.

"It needs a key," Pythagoras advised, and Jason rolled his eyes because he could have told him that. "Let me get a knife and try to force it."

Jason wasn't thrilled at the idea of a sharp tool being used so close to his person in the blackness, but he didn't mention it. Pythagoras produced a knife from his waistband and lowered the tip into the keyhole, then jiggled it around trying to confuse the lock, or overwhelm it, or something.

After barely a minute Hercules said impatiently, "Here, let me do it."

"Oh, you know locks, do you?" Pythagoras sniped.

"I have experience with forcing things, yes."

Another figure ducked into the tent. "What's taking so long?"

"Dion?" Jason was amazed.

"He's shackled," Hercules replied. "Just trying to break the lock."

"Well hurry up."

"How many people did you bring with you?" Jason asked in bewilderment.

"Just Dion," Pythagoras returned matter of factly, like traveling with the most senior military officer in Atlantis was hardly worth mentioning.

Hercules proceeded to do with the lock exactly the same thing that Pythagoras had been doing. Only more powerfully. Jason could barely hold his wrists in place with the amount of downward pressure the strongman was exerting.

"Keep it still," Hercules griped.

"Don't push so hard," Jason returned.

"It would be quicker to chop your hands off."

"Well I need my hands."

"Have you seen the wooden hands they make nowadays?" Hercules said conversationally. "They're wonderful. You can hardly tell the difference."

Jason wasn't sure how to respond, his eyes widened a little at the thought that Hercules might genuinely be suggesting that they cut off his hands.

"I have a key," Pythagoras announced triumphantly.

_Thank God_, Jason thought.

"Where did you get a key?" Hercules asked suspiciously.

"From the guard lying over there."

"Well why didn't you think of that to begin with?" Hercules blustered irritatedly. "A few more minutes and Jason was destined to a life wearing hand puppets."

"That wasn't going to happen," Jason clarified quietly.

"You seem a little overexcited," Pythagoras commented drily to his large friend. "We're all very happy to find Jason but you need to settle down before you draw attention."

Hercules huffed.

Pythagoras inserted the key into the lock and Jason breathed a sigh when it actually worked, the cuffs loosened around his wrists and the chains dropped to the ground. He rubbed his fingers over the chafed skin absently.

"Lets go," Hercules hissed, then paused uncertainly. "Do you need help?"

"No," Jason dismissed quickly.

Hercules thrust the hilt of a sword into Jason's hand. Not _his_ sword, it felt foreign in his grip, probably from the dead guard, but it was gratefully received nonetheless.

Dion advised, "We need to avoid the sentries, head north to where the horses are waiting."

Jason had no idea which direction was north and let Hercules lead the way, Pythagoras following behind with Dion at the rear. They scrambled past the swathe of tents, in which hundreds of soldiers slept and they inevitably made some noise, four men trying to creep still produced some heavy footsteps and too loud breaths. Lucky for them, in a camp this size, there was always a lot of movement and noise, so even if they were heard, they hoped no one in the tents would consider it suspicious or suspect interlopers.

The camp was interminable, it went on forever. And progress was slow as they dodged from shadow to shadow. Even at this late/ early hour there were a surprising amount of men milling about.

It was as they neared the end of the tents that their luck ran out.

"Halt! Who's there?"

"Keep moving," Dion hissed. Hercules and Pythagoras did, they increased their pace, and disappeared into the darkness, but when Jason saw Dion was going to address the sentry, he hung back, waiting to see if the general would require assistance. He felt exposed without his leather vest, and clumsy in a shirt where the sleeves brushed his hands.

"We are but lost travelers," Dion said to the guard. "Perhaps you could offer some guidance."

The story was never going to hold, no one would ordinarily travel in the dead of night, dressed in armour. And they were coming _out_ of the Colchean camp. The sound of swords clashing was impossibly loud in the quiet night, Jason winced.

Dion dispatched the sentry without much trouble but three more men rushed toward him. Jason hastened to the general's side and met one of the oncoming soldiers. He swung his sword and his balance was all wrong, he needed to compensate for the stiffness in his back. As the weapons met he almost lost his grip, the hilt twisted in his fingers, his strength was atrocious and he shook his head in annoyance. He dodged the next strike smartly, rammed his shoulder into the man's chest to unbalance him then drove his sword through the soldier's stomach, pushing him out of the way when the man froze in disbelieving agony.

He moved closer to Dion and took on another of the defenders. He could feel his rhythm returning, the stiffness loosening, he parried and thrust with more grace and confidence and found the flesh of his opponent, sinking him to the ground. Instantly there were more to fight, it was difficult to tell in the dark how large the fighting group had become, and without breaking stride he kept his sword moving, used his body to throw the soldiers off balance and was grateful that he seemed to be better in the dim light than his opponents.

He deflected an oncoming thrust with his arm and belatedly remembered that he wasn't wearing his leather wrist cuff which would have deadened the blow, the sword bit into his flesh and he yelped, jerked his hand away and drove his sword hard into the opponents side. The man fell with a dying cry and Jason flicked his injured wrist a few times, trying to diminish the sting from the slash.

Jason wondered idly how quickly sleeping men could rouse and fight because if they didn't extricate themselves soon they would have the whole army upon them, already they were blanketed by opposition.

A loud guttural yell rent the air and some of the soldiers took a concerned step backward, unsettled by the cry, looking around to see what it signified. Jason and Dion didn't have that luxury, too focussed on the weapons still trying to slice them, but from the corner of his eye Jason saw Hercules, looking like a bear with outstretched arms, hurtle into the crowd of soldiers and bowl them over like skittles. Not one was left standing. Jason barked a laugh, it was an absurd strategy, soldiers were piled on top of each other trying to extricate themselves, and he was amazed by how ridiculously effective it was.

"Run!" Hercules shouted, as he brushed past Jason like a fleeing jack rabbit, remarkably light on his feet.

Dion and Jason followed suit, turned on their heel and plunged into the darkness. There were shrubs clawing at them, rocks trying to trip them and uneven ground keen to twist their ankle, but mercifully they avoided those pitfalls and the spectre of horses loomed quickly in front of them. Jason put on a burst of speed and scrambled onto the horse that Pythagoras was astride, leaving the riderless horses for Dion and Hercules.

With Jason barely seated, the horse was urged forward. He curled his arms around Pythagoras torso as his heart hammered in his chest, exhilarated by the feeling of freedom. He knew the Colcheans couldn't catch them now, it would take time to saddle horses and men on foot would not keep up. His jubilation and relief was intoxicating.

"I've really missed you guys," Jason cried in delight.

"I haven't missed this," Pythagoras replied, less euphoric. "How do you manage to find such trouble?"

"It's a skill." Jason grinned and gave his friend a squeeze.

Pythagoras chuckled. "I've missed you too."

They rode for hours. Their initial blistering pace was quickly reduced to a walk for fear of hobbling the horses. The night masked their retreat, there didn't seem to be any fear among the group that they might be pursued, but still the mood was muted and wary.

Even though they shared a horse, conversation was sparse between Jason and Pythagoras. They briefly caught up on the events of the past few days, Jason was pleased to hear that the gold had been safely delivered to Atlantis, and he in turn told Pythagoras about stumbling upon the Colchean camp, getting shot and waking up a prisoner. And then they settled into weary, agreeable silence.

As the ride went on Jason could feel himself leaning more heavily into his friend. He tried not to, to keep his posture upright, but he was exhausted, his muscles were strained. He'd spent most of the last two days laying in bed and the burst of activity had completely drained him, everything ached. He knew it was a hangover from the blood loss, he wasn't sure how long it took for blood to replenish but figured two days was running short. And it bothered him, he mentally rebelled against the weakness, tried to talk himself out of it because they had a long ride ahead, he needed to hold it together until they reached Atlantis. He consoled himself that every jolting step, every jar upon his body, brought him closer to home and was discomfort worth enduring.

As dawn's light bloomed across the forest floor and the surrounds became more colorful and distinct, Dion called a halt to their progress, suggesting to his companions that they take a break and rest the horses.

Hercules dismounted and secured the reins of his horse to a tree. Dion did likewise. Pythagoras shifted in the saddle, turned his body partly toward Jason then cried out in dismay.

"What?" Jason tensed, looking around expecting to find a troubling sight.

"Your arm," Pythagoras exclaimed. "There's blood everywhere. What happened?"

"Oh." His am was actually the least of his worries, it had become numb and disembodied a while back. "It feels fine."

Hercules hastened to their side, cinched a few fingers around Jason's wrist and twisted it to gain a view of the injury. He blew out a dismissive breath. "It's just a scratch."

"It's hardly a scratch," Pythagoras objected, looking down at his clothing that was patched with rusty stains. He twisted in his seat, regarded Jason squarely and his expression became serious.

"Get him down," he instructed Hercules with quiet urgency.

_Excellent idea_, Jason thought, he was more than ready to get off the damned horse but had no idea how it might be achieved, he felt incapable of moving an inch.

Hercules rested a hand on Jason's leg and said, "How do you want to do this?"

"Don't call me delicate," Jason pre-empted, because he had an idea that getting to the ground was not going to be graceful.

A fond smile spread across the big man's face. "I know you're not delicate. You just have a remarkable talent for finding injury."

Jason nodded his somber agreement, then sat dumbly, trying to figure out how to dismount, wondering if there was any way his body might twist that wouldn't be painful. Before he could resolve his dilemma, Hercules wrapped a hand around his bicep and tugged him sharply toward the forest floor. As the world tilted, and stressed muscles sang their objection, Jason gasped and zoned out. Or maybe he fainted, he really wasn't quite sure, he preferred to think that he didn't, but time skipped and the next thing he knew he was lying on the ground with Pythagoras hovering above, calling his name.

"That's a tall horse," Jason mumbled, then frowned because he wasn't quite sure what he meant by it.

Pythagoras breathed a small laugh, relief in his expression. "Luckily you have a strong friend." He rested a hand on Jason's chest and said, "Don't move yet, I want to look at your arm."

Jason hadn't even considered moving, and felt guilty because obviously it was expected of him. He should probably go and shake Dion's hand, he thought, the man risked his life to rescue him, he should thank him for that.

Hercules crouched beside Jason but looked at Pythagoras. "How is he?"

"You can see how he is," Pythagoras returned mildly. "He is not quite himself. I think he'll be fine in a few days. There's a nasty gash on his arm, I should bind it before we continue. Jason," the mathematician sought the injured man's eyes, "I want you to stay where you are while I get some supplies to pack your wound. Don't move."

"Okay," Jason replied amenably, a little bemused that Pythagoras was speaking to him like he was addled, but secretly pleased that he had an excuse not to shift.

Pythagoras shot Hercules a look which might have conveyed _keep an eye on him_ and headed toward the horse.

Hercules took a more fixed seat, stretching his legs out in front. "No more running off without us."

"No argument," Jason returned easily. He had no desire to find himself stranded and alone again.

"Pythagoras was beside himself with worry."

"_Pythagoras_ was?" Jason teased.

"You should have seen him, all mopey and distraught. He was quite distressed."

"That sounds..." Jason's humour slipped, the flippant comment he was about to make died on his lips.

"We were really worried," Hercules continued, gently but seriously. "Like, thought-you-might-be-dead worried."

"I know." Jason couldn't meet his friend's eyes. "I'm really sorry."

"You're always sorry," Hercules dismissed. At Jason's stricken face he added quickly, "I mean, you can't help yourself. Running into danger is who you are. But we are agreed that this, the separation, will never happen again, even if the future of Atlantis depends on it."

Jason hedged a little at that, felt it was a promise he probably couldn't keep, but decided now was not the time to quibble. "Okay."

"You look a little the worse for wear," Hercules commented with slight bemusement. "When we get back to Atlantis I have heard of a woman who can rebalance your energies with mead and wax. She makes a small incision in your..."

"No," Jason cut him off.

"It's supposed to be very..."

"No. No. Just - really - no."

Hercules was undeterred. "I'll have Pythagoras explain it better. I've heard amazing things, you really should give it a try. I mean look at you, what have you got to lose?"

Jason couldn't help but smile at his well meaning friend.

Dion approached and peered at Jason over Hercules' shoulder. He had a cut on his temple and his left cheek was swollen and bruised, Jason winced in sympathy.

"Everything okay?" the general enquired.

"All good," Hercules returned brightly, and it amused Jason how unfazed his friend was that he was lying listless on the ground. It was probably an indictment on their relationship that Hercules had seen him worse.

"I'd like to talk to Jason for a moment."

Hercules nodded understandingly.

Jason felt that he should sit up. it seemed disrespectful to be laying on the ground while Dion addressed him. There was a comfort and familiarity he had with his friends that didn't extend to the general, he felt like he needed to be braver, more self possessed around him.

He rocked himself to a sitting position and was pleased by how easily he did it, tented his legs and draped his arms over them casually. Then, for the first time, he got a good look at the gash on his arm. There was a channel across the top of his wrist, a deep slice that had bled unchecked for hours, staining the shirt red up to his elbow and plastering the material to his skin as it had dried. It didn't look fatal, he was pretty sure Pythagoras could fix it, put a cabbage leaf on it or whatever and he'd be good as new, but it was quite gory, he could see a little too much of what lay below the skin, and it made him instantly queasy. He turned his head away and suddenly had a real fear that he was going to pass out. As his head swam and a cold sweat swept through him he made a concerted effort to stay conscious, determined not to suffer the indignity of fainting with Dion right beside him.

"Perhaps you should lay back down," Dion suggested with concern, hovering a hand behind his shoulder.

Jason swallowed thickly, blinked a few times and lightly shook his head. "No, it's fine. I just sat up too quickly."

"Maybe I'll keep a hand on him, if you don't mind me staying?" Hercules sounded so serious that Jason peered at him, shot him a look to convince him he was okay.

Dion nodded brusquely. "Jason, I have to make haste to Atlantis and tell the queen that the Colcheans are nearby. Is there anything you can tell me about what they have planned?"

Jason considered for a moment, tried to remember everything Pasiphae had said. His thoughts moved slowly and he struggled to move from one idea to the next.

"Pasiphae's determined to take the Atlantis crown," he offered. "She is obsessed by it."

"Is she planning an assault?"

"I don't know," he replied slowly, trying to recall if she had mentioned any reason for being in the forest near Atlantis. Nothing came to mind. "She didn't discuss strategy, or any particular plans, it was all very general."

"Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Again Jason ran through the interactions in his head. There was information he dismissed as being irrelevant (_she is one of eight children; her mother didn't love her_) and conversations he didn't think Dion really needed to know (_we should be allies; the Gods have sent you a clear message_). It didn't leave much of probative value, but he really wanted to offer Dion something.

"Her brother," Jason said, "the King of Colchis, is funding Pasiphae's army and sending her troops. He doesn't want her in Colchis at his court."

"Why not? Did they have a falling out?"

"I think he's worried about her taking his crown."

"I see."

Dion continued to look at Jason expectantly, waiting for more.

"I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

Dion's expression became grave. "And what information did they force out of you?"

"Nothing." Jason returned confidently. "They got nothing from me. Honestly, I didn't really have anything to give."

"Okay." Dion gave a tight smile. "Was there any reason that Pasiphae keep you alive? Colcheans don't usually keep prisoners, do you know why they kept you?"

Jason shrugged, at a loss. "I don't know. I think there was something Pasiphae wanted, but I never found out what it was."

Dion nodded and let out a relieved breath, satisfied with the replies. He placed an amiable hand on the young man's shoulder. "The queen will be very pleased to hear that you still live." Jason blushed and ducked his head. "And I will look forward to seeing you back in Atlantis."

"Thank you," Jason said with feeling.

As Dion mounted his horse and gave the men a salute of goodbye, Jason quietly asked Hercules, "Do you have a firm grip on me?"

"Yes," Hercules returned slowly, unsure of the question.

"Good," Jason sighed and slumped against the big man's chest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

It was a grueling return journey to Atlantis. Six hours of riding was always going to be grueling. But on better days there would have been a different tone, more conversation and light-heartedness, more commentary and sarcasm. On this day, all of them were flat and tired and wrung out. Or maybe it was just Jason, maybe his friends were true to form and he couldn't recognise it because he was all of those things. And paranoid. Increasingly paranoid, that he would never make it to Atlantis, that the universe had other plans for him. It was stupid how strongly the thought took hold. He couldn't reason himself out of it. And the idea festered, he started to think that if he did reach Atlantis, maybe he shouldn't. Maybe it wasn't where he was supposed to be anymore. It wasn't just ending up in Pasiphae's camp that was messing with his head (_there are no coincidences_), it was Ariadne – she'd move on, there was no love for him in Atlantis. And the city itself had got what it needed from him, he'd helped repel the attacking army. Wasn't that all his destiny required? To secure the city, keep the citizens safe?

It was hard to muster optimism bouncing around too long on a horse feeling, not just out of sorts, but disenchanted. For a glorious time Atlantis had fitted him like a glove, he'd never felt so attuned to a place and valued by it, but the mutual adoration was waning. The city didn't really need him, and Telemon was keeping Ariadne safe,with Dion more than capable backup. Why did he stay? The Oracle had told him he was necessary, integral to the city and its success, but he was starting to wonder if it was true, or if it continued to be true. He'd certainly had his share of missteps, been in trouble as much as he'd been lauded, and nearly gotten him and his friends killed on more than one occasion. Maybe he wasn't anything special. Maybe he never had been, he'd allowed himself to get carried away by idle talk of his importance. He was nobody, a loyal citizen, nothing more. He would always love Atlantis, but maybe he was getting a gentle nudge out the door.

"Everything okay?"

Pythagoras had moved his horse up to walk beside Jason, so close that their knees almost touched. Their pace was unhurried, Hercules was now on foot, a little behind but not struggling to keep up.

"Of course," Jason returned, and then realized that he was hunched in the saddle, his face only inches from the horse's mane. He pushed himself upright and not one part of his body was happy about it.

"Perhaps we should take a break." Pythagoras looked behind, to try and catch Hercules eye.

"No," Jason replied, a little too vehemently because Pythagoras looked at him sharply. "I-I just want to get home," he stammered.

"I know what you mean," Pythagoras agreed, but his eyes were probing. "Let me offer Hercules the horse. Would you mind if I rejoined you on that horse? We could make much faster time."

Jason shrugged. "Sure."

Whether there was one on the horse or two, wouldn't make much difference to the level of discomfort. Jason mused upon how magnificent a car would be about now. He could spread himself out on the backseat, leave the front to his friends, and they would arrive at the city in no time, without the muscle tenderizing gait of a horse. He sighed at the thought. It seemed inconceivable that it was another two thousand years before society would feel the need for such an invention.

Pythagoras quickly dismounted and, with the reins in his hand, walked back toward Hercules. Jason twisted in his seat to watch the exchange and by the amount of surreptitious glances his way, figured he was a topic of conversation. He could imagine Pythagoras giving Hercules an ultimatum _If he falls off the horse we are done for the day/ If he passes out we're spending the night in the forest/_

It was unnecessary. He was fine, feeling stronger as they progressed. After Dion left, Pythagoras had smothered his injured wrist in some herbal paste and made him drink a foul smelling concoction and it had actually helped, given him an upswing, some energy, and he had no fear that he would collapse before making it to Atlantis. But if he said that to Pythagoras he doubted he would be believed. You pass out once and you're labelled for the rest of the day, the brunt of sympathetic looks and gentle tones.

The reins were handed to Hercules, who mounted quickly into the saddle. Pythagoras marched back to Jason and climbed onto the animal to sit behind, circling his arms around Jason's waist.

Hercules walked his horse up beside theirs and addressed Jason. "I hear you're keen to get home."

The young man raised a nonchalant eyebrow, feeling a rebuke coming on. "Aren't you?"

"Indeed." He regarded Jason with mischief in his eyes. "Apparently these are the queen's fastest horses. You want to test it out?"

Jason blinked in surprise. It was not at all what he was expecting. And the prospect of reducing travel time by picking up speed delighted him. His mouth stretched into a grin. "Absolutely."

"Hang on a minute," Pythagoras squeaked. "That's a really bad…"

The rest of his complaint was lost to the wind as Jason and Hercules spurred the horses and chased each other through the trees until the steep walls of Atlantis came into view.

* * *

Jason staggered through the front door of their house and sank onto the bench seat at the dining table. The space was so still and normal and waiting, like he'd only been gone a short while, like it had never doubted his return, and he couldn't help smiling.

"Oh my God," he sighed, laying his head on the cool wooden surface. "I am never leaving this house again."

"If only that were true," Hercules lamented. "What a lovely dull life we would lead." He narrowed his eyes at Jason. "You want help getting to bed?"

Jason wrinkled his brow, uncertain if Hercules was serious. "It's, like, four steps away."

"It is, yes," Hercules clipped, mildly annoyed by the statement of the obvious, which ignored the question. "Would you like help getting there?"

Jason exhaled an amused breath, and wondered just how terrible he looked. He ached more than he had ever ached in his life. Parts of his body that had no reason to ache, did. His back was in misery. He should have gone straight to bed, because now that he had sat down it was going to be impossible to rise. Another four steps suddenly was a really big deal. "Maybe. Just let me enjoy the table first."

"Yes the table _is_ riveting," the big man returned with a roll of his eyes, "but I'm about to sleep for a week, so it's now or never."

"It's fine," Pythagoras piped up. "I'll help Jason if he needs helping. You go to bed."

Hercules looked at the mathematician uncertainly. "You sure?"

Jason frowned, taking umbrage at the implication that he was a problem, or needed supervising, or was too unwell to care for himself, or whatever was going through Hercules head. He was fine, they were home, he didn't need to be nursed, and snapped, "He's sure."

"I'm sure," Pythagoras agreed.

"Okay." Hercules lifted his hands submissively. But he seemed reticent to leave. He lingered in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment surveying the two of them, looking troubled, like there was something on his mind, then nodded his head and repeated, "Okay." He turned into his room, paused, and turned back toward them. "Just don't do anything idiotic while I'm asleep. Okay? I'm looking at you arrow attractor."

Jason clicked his tongue. It wasn't like he tried to find trouble. "I'm just laying here quietly. Why don't you look at the one who's still on his feet."

"What? When have I ever done anything idiotic?" Pythagoras exclaimed. "Just go to bed Hercules. Before you start a riot."

Hercules padded into his room, dropped onto the bed and let out an audible moan of delight.

"We don't need to hear it," Pythagoras called after him.

"It's so comfortable," Hercules called back. "I haven't felt this comfortable in a week." He let out another satisfied moan.

Jason raised his head to grin at Pythagoras. "Maybe he doesn't need Medusa after all."

"Those are sounds I don't want to hear coming from anybody," Pythagoras remarked, pressing his lips together in distaste.

Jason returned his head to the table, this time making a pillow of his hands and resting his head on top.

"I'm going to make you a tonic," Pythagoras announced. "Your energies are well out of balance, you need to get them back into alignment if you are to feel well again."

"It's really not necessary," Jason dismissed. "I think my balances will re-energize naturally in a few days." He paused uncertainly. "Energies realign?" He flapped a hand. "Whatever you said."

"A tonic can't hurt," Pythagoras pointed out, a little hurt by the rebuff. "And it's something I can do to help. It's one of the few things I do well."

Jason lifted his head, regarded his friend with reproach. "You know that's not true, right? You do a lot of things well. Don't make me list them, it would just embarrass us both."

Pythagoras ducked his head. "I know my strengths. And returning you to health is becoming a specialty."

Jason breathed a laugh and lowered his head back down. "If you insist."

He listened as his friend pottered in the kitchen, crushing and grinding ingredients. The familiarity of it was so soothing. The surrounds, the smells, the sounds, it all made him feel safe and secure. Maybe he was where he was supposed to be.

"What on earth possessed you to enter an enemy camp to look for me?" Jason suddenly asked, and knitted his brow. "You didn't even know if I was in there. What were you going to do if I wasn't?"

Pythagoras shrugged. "It seemed sensible at the time." He tilted his head toward the ceiling. "Although in hindsight it was a bit rash. And ill thought out. Hercules and I never doubted that you were in the camp but Dion was just as certain that you couldn't be. He kept saying Colcheans don't take prisoners." He frowned, drew a hand pensively across his mouth, like he was only now considering the implications of their actions. "Come to think of it, it really could have ended quite badly. It didn't even occur to us. We were just so desperate to find you."

Jason propped his head on a hand and smiled with mild exasperation at his friend. It struck him that _the Gods_ must really like Hercules and Pythagoras because they had a remarkable knack of escaping dangerous situations unscathed. Or was that just dumb luck? It was hard to determine in this time what was orchestrated and what wasn't, if at all.

As Pythagoras continued with his medicinal preparations, Jason asked casually, "Do you believe in coincidence?"

Pythagoras blinked, unprepared for the question. "Um..." He paused what he was doing for a moment to consider. "I believe there are coincidences, yes."

"So you believe that random things can interact randomly?"

Pythagoras chuckled. "Is it really your intention to enter into an existential discussion or is there something on your mind?"

Jason blew out a breath. There was a lot on his mind, and he was pretty sure he should keep it to himself, but he kind of wanted another perspective.

Pythagoras moved to the table and set a mug of liquid by Jason's head. "Drink this."

Jason sat up slowly, unwillingly, looking dubiously at the concoction. "Is this what you made me drink earlier?"

"I didn't _make_ you drink it," Pythagoras corrected, affront in his expression. "And no, it isn't quite the same, I have more at my disposal here. But I guarantee you'll feel better for drinking it."

Jason sipped the drink and winced at the taste of leaves and flowers and earth. "Delicious," he commented wryly.

"I didn't say it would taste good. Now tell me what coincidence is troubling you."

Jason concentrated his attention on the mug in his hand, never comfortable about revealing his thoughts. "Do you think it means anything that when I was lying injured in the forest it was Medea that found me and not you or Hercules?"

Pythagoras thought quietly for a moment. "It might mean something. Why? What do you think it means?"

"Pasiphae said the Gods were sending me a message, that they had delivered me to her camp. That the Gods wanted me with her." Jason lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"I see," Pythagoras replied soberly. He pulled out the bench opposite his friend and slowly lowered into it. "I believe the will of the Gods is not easily interpreted. I think it could also be argued that when you were lying in the forest your need was so great that you _had_ to be found and the identity of your savior was not important. I think the Gods want you alive, Jason, that is the message they're sending. The fact that you were freed from the camp quite promptly would appear to outweigh the misfortune of ending up there in the first place."

Jason favored his friend with a genuine smile. "See? You offer much more than tonics." He sighed in relief. "I much prefer that explanation, even if it is a little self serving."

"Bear in mind though, that interpreting signs from above is not a skill that I profess. My explanation is as much a guess as Pasiphae's. If you really want answers you should consult with the Oracle."

Jason's shoulders dipped. "And now you've undone all your good work."

"All I'm saying is that my opinion and Pasiphae's opinion should have little influence over you because neither of us has any expertise in interpreting the will of the Gods. Whatever Pasiphae said, you need to put it out of your mind. It means nothing."

"I guess," Jason agreed half heartedly and drank a large swig of the tonic.

Pythagoras asked cautiously, "Do you want to talk about what happened over the past few days? What you endured in that camp?"

Jason's expression twisted derisively. "I didn't endure anything. My life was saved. And Pasiphae was accommodating and pleasant." He tipped his head. "Sort of." He brought the drink thoughtfully to his lips, paused for a moment to prepare for the bad taste then gulped the remainder quickly. He set the mug in front of him and twisted it idly in his hands. "I can't really make sense of it," he admitted ruefully. "I don't know..." He thought about how to finish the sentence and ended up upturning his hands. "I just don't know."

Pythagoras shifted uncomfortably, and gave a light shrug. "Pasiphae is always plotting. She is always looking for an angle. Perhaps she thought to take advantage of your closeness to Ariadne."

"No," Jason summarily dismissed.

"Perhaps she wanted to learn about the mission we were on, to collect the gold."

"Never came up. I don't think she knew anything about it."

"Jason." Pythagoras' tone was light. "I can keep throwing theories at you but I can't tell you what Pasiphae was thinking. Frankly, I can't even guess at it."

"Why would she save my life?" Jason's gaze became fixed and thoughtful. "I fought against her. I spoiled her plans to take Atlantis. Why would she save me? What possible payoff could there be?"

"Who knows," Pythagoras replied quickly, plucked the empty mug from Jason's fingers and ambled to the kitchen to put it in the sink. He placed his hands on the edge of the counter and flexed his arms, closing his eyes for a moment.

Jason ran fingers wearily across his forehead. "Do you think there is any point in me staying in Atlantis?"

There was no answer from Pythagoras so Jason turned his face toward him and found his friend had twisted his whole body around, his lower back was resting on the counter. His eyes were wide, mouth moving wordlessly. "Why– Why– Why would you leave?" He finally managed to get out.

Jason hitched up his shoulders. "Maybe it's just time."

Pythagoras honestly looked like he'd been punched in the gut, he seemed to be having trouble drawing a breath and Jason quickly added, "I'm not saying I want to leave you. Or Hercules. Maybe we should just take a break from Atlantis for a while."

Pythagoras blinked. "And go where? Why?" He shook himself. "Do you want to join Pasiphae?"

Jason shot his friend a startled look. "No! God, no!" He was disturbed that Pythagoras would draw such a conclusion, and even more disturbed that perhaps his friend was right and that was where his thoughts had been leading him. Now that the idea had been given thought he was vehemently opposed to it, he felt absolutely no inclination to join Pasiphae

"I don't- I don't understand where this is coming from." The mathematician weakly pushed his blond curls from his forehead. "Perhaps I should wake Hercules."

"No. No. It was just a question. I think you're taking it too seriously. I was just wondering…" Jason pressed his lips together. "You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything. I'm just tired. That's all."

Suddenly the room lurched and a wave of heat swept through Jason's body. He slapped his palms on the table to steady himself and shot his friend a look of alarm. Pythagoras froze, like a deer in the headlights, the worst poker face ever, and Jason got a sinking feeling. "What did you do?"

Pythagoras wrinkled his eyes and reluctantly admitted, "I may have put a mild sedative in your drink."

Jason's eyes went wide. "You drugged me?!"

"A little bit. Hardly at all."

"It doesn't feel like a little bit," Jason griped. Already he could feel his strength being sapped. He was tired anyway and the soporific intensified the feeling, made him feel heavy and a bit numb, tugged at him to close his eyes. He fought against it, propped his chin on his hand and tried to keep his eyelids high. "I can't believe you spiked my drink. That is really out of line."

"It's for your own good," the mathematician insisted. "After a decent night's sleep you'll feel so much better. You'll thank me tomorrow."

"What exactly was your plan? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"I was hoping you would drink the tonic and go straight to bed," Pythagoras explained sheepishly. "That was my plan. And everyone was happy in that plan."

The room lurched again, his sight started to blur, he felt like he was rocking and wasn't sure if he actually was. Jason blinked long and shuddered a breath. "You are so fired," he muttered, too overcome to inject the words with the requisite amount of indignation. "You are no longer my personal physician. I am never drinking another one of your tonics."

"Jason, please." There was contrition in Pythagoras' tone and he took a few steps toward his friend. "Let me help you to bed."

"No. No way." Jason was having trouble getting words out, his whole body was becoming hard to manage. He crossed his arms untidily and slid them over the table, letting his head drop into the fold. "If you want me in bed then you'll have to carry my dead weight."

Pythagoras was saying something, pleading his case or something, and Jason ignored it, disappointed by the betrayal no matter how well intentioned, and determined not to forgive it lightly. As he closed his eyes he felt a gentle hand on his back, and didn't have the wherewithawal to shake it off as he succumbed to the overwhelming urge to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Final chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"I am pleased to see you well," Ariadne offered with sincerity.

"I am pleased to be well, your Highness," Jason returned with cool formality.

The light was missing from his eyes. Usually when Jason was in her presence he gazed upon her with unrestrained joy and adoration, his heart reflected in his face, but not today, and she swallowed at its absence. His gaze was brief, perfunctory, his emotion was well shuttered, and she had no one to blame but herself.

She realized now it had been unwise to summon him. She had barely slept while he was missing, fearful of what the outcome might be, and she had just wanted to look upon him and be satisfied that he was fine. It had been selfish of her, and imprudent. She was engaged to another and she needed to leave Jason in peace, stop reminding him of what could never be.

But it was hard to be sorry when he looked so agreeable. Unmarked by his ordeal, which was a surprise. Dion had advised her that Jason was affected by his captivity and may not be well enough to attend a summons less than twenty four hours after returning to Atlantis. He'd been deliberately vague about what ailed Jason, and she wasn't sure if it was out of discretion or because he didn't want to alarm her, but alarmed she was, imagining grave injury and disfigurement.

Whatever infirmity Jason suffered was either passed or well hidden because he looked as he always did, boyishly rugged, lean and strong. And she was confused by it, wondering why Dion hadn't just said, _Jason is fine, _why he had hedged about like something was wrong, like Jason was suffering. If he had been open it would have saved a lot of unnecessary concern and this awkward encounter. And now it was hard to explain, why she had summoned only him and not his friends. It had been deliberate. She had expected a note in return declining the invitation, and that would have been the catalyst for a personal visit, which she would have much preferred, away from the prying eyes of the court. And not at all inappropriate, to visit a man injured in her service.

She smiled thinly, expert at revealing nothing of her thoughts.

"I wanted to thank you personally for your service, to me and to the city. The gold you helped secure has been invaluable. Once again I am in your debt."

Jason kept his gaze cast down, remained respectfully on one knee as he replied, "I can hardly claim any credit for the delivery of the gold. I think the mission was successful in spite of me."

She smiled at his modesty. "You suffered in my service. I don't dismiss it lightly. Please rise," she added impatiently.

He gained his feet, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, flicked his eyes to her face only briefly then settled his attention at her feet. "Thank you, I appreciate your kindness."

There was a time when he would have said more, addressed her as an equal, without regard for whether it was discreet or not. She enjoyed that about him, his frank charm, even if it could be disarming. But now he was tightly controlled, uncomfortable in her presence, looking like he would rather be elsewhere. She guessed he wasn't deliberately being hurtful, it wasn't in his nature, but she felt the lack of his smile. She had never known conversation with him to be so difficult.

"I understand you fell into the hands of our enemy?"

"Briefly, yes."

"And you lived to tell the tale," she said lightly.

His expression clouded, he glimpsed at her face then looked away with a frown, and she couldn't understand what might trouble him about escaping Pasiphae's clutches.

"I should like to hear about it," she persisted. "The reports I received do not appear to be entirely reliable."

He looked at her in puzzlement. "I'm sure you have been well advised."

"I heard that you were injured," she said with a flick of her brow. "And yet here you are looking well. Not that I'm complaining."

He lowered his gaze, shifted his weight uncomfortably and finally, reluctantly, admitted, "I was shot in the back."

Ariadne's heavy brows flirted with her hairline as her eyes went wide.

"It's nothing," he added quickly, aware of her alarm. "I'm fine."

"That doesn't sound like nothing," she returned, a little breathless, assessing him again, wondering how he could appear so unaffected after suffering such a wound only a few days ago. He betrayed nothing of it, his fortitude was amazing. "It does in fact sound like a grave injury. Why would you appear before me if you were hurt?"

Jason regarded her with mild bemusement. "Because you summoned me. I was unaware that I had a choice in coming."

"Yes, but I…" Ariadne broke off as footsteps approached from behind. She assumed it was Dion, entering through the private door to advise her no doubt of some new problem that needed her attention. But when she turned her head she saw it was Telemon and frowned her surprise. He never ordinarily interrupted her administrative duties. He gave her a cursory, familiar smile and walked past her toward Jason with his arms outstretched like he was going to embrace him.

"Jason," he greeted warmly. At the last minute he dropped his arms and offered a handshake. "I heard you were here and had to come see for myself."

Jason appeared startled by the welcome. He took a small step backward and stiffly accepted the proffered hand.

"I understand Atlantis nearly lost its favorite son," Telemon said lightly. "Had I known of your mission I could have joined you, and saved you the indignity of capture. Imprisoned by a woman, I'll bet that dented your pride."

Jason tensed and opened his mouth to reply, something cutting, she could tell by his dark expression but she belayed it by getting in first.

"Telemon," Ariadne uttered, with mild warning. She didn't appreciate his interference or passive aggression. "I have a few more matters to attend, then I would be happy to spend time with you."

"My darling, I'm here to see Jason. Although I would never decline an invitation to spend time with you." His overconfidence was grating. "I just wanted to let him know how much he was missed. I believe you had given him up for dead."

Ariadne fluttered her lashes and forced a tight smile. "It was a trying few days," she agreed.

"Tears in the pillow, Jason," the prince said conspiratorially, with calculated rue. "That beautiful face so downcast. You've never seen a person so miserable. Anyone would think she was betrothed to you."

Ariadne rose angrily from her throne and glared at the prince.

Telemon twisted in her direction, eyes wide and innocent. "My darling, don't be ashamed of your feelings. You feel for Jason the way you feel for all your citizens, you would cry at the loss of any of them."

"I would," she agreed tersely. "And now you should leave me to finish conducting business."

"Of course my dear." Telemon turned an icy gaze to Jason, slapped him on the shoulder a little too hard. "So good to have you back," he uttered with a lacing of menace. "I'll see you around."

As Telemon stalked out past the guards, through the main entrance, Ariadne sank back onto the throne, her face flushed. She inhaled a steadying breath and could hardly bear to look at Jason, humiliated by her fiancée's jealousy.

"He's a real keeper," Jason commented angrily, and immediately raised his hands apologetically, aware it was improper. "Sorry," he muttered.

"He is a prince," she returned dully, not intending it as a rebuke, although she could tell that's how it was received, more an acknowledgment that beggars can't be choosers. Jason's jaw ticked, his eyes shone in offence because it was the one area in which he couldn't compete, no matter how worthy he might be.

Ariadne sighed inwardly. It was an unmitigated disaster. Jason had been affronted in a myriad of ways, and that had certainly not been the intention in summoning him. She had just wanted to see him. It was an innocent ambition gone completely awry and she could see no point in prolonging it.

"Thank you for coming," she said despondently. "You are dismissed."

* * *

Jason strode into the palace courtyard and immediately caught sight of his friends, lounging on the small wall that rounded the fountain, waiting for him to conclude his interview. He exhaled deeply to release his agitation and moved toward them.

"Have we been pressed into service again?" Hercules greeted him, with barely contained annoyance. "I mean, I enjoy the money but this is too much, we only got back to the city yesterday."

Jason raised a hand. "We don't have another mission. Ariadne just wanted to thank us for delivering the gold."

The big man's brow wrinkled in genuine confusion. "Then why didn't she summon all of us? I mean, if you want to get technical, we were the ones who _actually_ delivered the gold."

"I did point that out," Jason placated. "I think she wanted to see if I was alright. She seemed to think I was badly injured."

"Well, you were," Pythagoras replied logically.

"But I'm not now," Jason argued. "And I don't know why Dion would tell her that."

Hercules suggested, "Probably because the last Dion saw, you were passed out on the forest floor."

Jason opened his mouth to refute it but took a moment to consider the return journey and remembered that he'd felt pretty poorly early. And Dion had left early. He was crestfallen to realize that the two had intersected, because he cared about the impression he left on the general, and was disappointed that apparently he had been perceived as some kind of mess.

Hercules, sensing his friend's dismay added, "I think it was forgivable given, you know, the arrow in the back, and nearly getting your hand lopped off."

Jason tried to rally at the understanding, but in the end he just had to stow his dissatisfaction, and continue. "Anyway, then Telemon came in," he hissed through his teeth, "and things got weird..."

"Ooh, now its getting interesting. What did Telemon want?"

Jason squinted his eyes uncertainly. "To threaten me?"

"He threatened you?" Hercules returned, a little too loudly, eyes blazing and Pythagoras shushed him, not wanting to cause a commotion with guards standing nearby.

"Kind of. Not really. I don't know." Jason threw up his hands because the more he thought about it, the less he understood the performance, or why it was considered necessary.

Pythagoras looked sideways at Hercules, to see if he was keeping up. "I'm confused."

"It was very confusing," Jason fervently conceded.

Hercules focus shifted to the surrounds, to who might be within earshot, and said, "I think we need to get a drink."

Jason inclined his head readily but Pythagoras protested, "It's a little early to start drinking."

"Its never too early to start drinking," Hercules disagreed sagely. "Wine was actually invented to accompany breakfast."

"No it wasn't," Pythagoras scoffed.

"Who do you think knows more about wine, you or me?"

Hercules wound an arm around each friend's shoulder and propelled them down a corridor heading for the palace exit.

They ended up in a dingy tavern near the palace end of the city. It was amazing how well acquainted Hercules was with drinking holes, Jason was certain that his friend could find himself in any sector of the city and know of a tavern within a short distance. The one they entered looked old, a little dilapidated, paint peeling from the walls, the floor simply well trodden earth, the furnishings were minimal, square wooden tables, crates for chairs. But they weren't there for the ambience. Hercules immediately caught the eye of the owner as they entered, gave him a smile like they were acquainted, and motioned for a jug of wine to be delivered.

They followed the big man to a vacant table, and Jason noticed in surprise how many people started drinking before lunch, he would have thought the place to be deserted but about a quarter of the tables were occupied.

The wine and three mugs were delivered to the table within moments of them sitting, Hercules steady patronage affording them superior service. The big man dispensed the liquor among the mugs and distributed them among the group. Jason immediately took a large gulp, still a little rattled by the encounter with Ariadne.

Hercules appraised him with a cocked eyebrow and said evenly, "So what's this I hear about you wanting to leave Atlantis?"

Jason nearly choked on the wine, startled by the question. He set the mug on the table in front of him, took a beat to ensure the liquid in his mouth was safely past his throat, then shook his head in disconcerted denial. "Who said I wanted to leave Atlantis?"

Hercules eyes slid to Pythagoras, and the mathematician shrank a little under the scrutiny. "Well- _You_ did," he returned sheepishly. "Last night."

"Did I?" Jason's mouth parted slightly as he tried to recall what he'd said. He'd rambled a bit last night, exhausted, a bit fragile, and he couldn't quite remember the details. He thought their conversation had been about Pasiphae. Finally he had to ask, "What did I say?"

"That maybe it was time to leave Atlantis."

"Oh." He focussed on the table, looking through it trying to force the recollection, but he honestly couldn't remember in what context he'd mentioned leaving Atlantis. And he didn't want to guess at it. He shrugged helplessly and said, "Did I say why?"

Pythagoras studied him closely, looking for disingenuousness, and finally admitted, "No."

"Okay, lets explore this properly," Hercules said, sounding foreign in the role of pragmatist. "Do you want to leave Atlantis?"

Jason scratched his head. "Not right now."

"Don't be cute," Hercules warned. "Just be straight with us, we can handle it."

"I don't want to leave," Jason returned honestly, expression sober, slightly alarmed by the seriousness of his friends tone. "Where are you going with this? Do- do you think that I should?"

"No," Hercules returned vehemently, horrified by the suggestion.

"Of course not," Pythagoras concurred when Jason's distressed gaze fell upon him.

"Then why are you bringing it up?" Jason asked, face pinched in consternation.

"Because _you_ brought it up," the blond man returned, slightly exasperated. "Last night."

Jason shook his head. "I wasn't exactly on top of my game last night. Why would you take notice of anything I said?"

"Because you sounded like you were honestly considering it."

Jason leaned back in the chair, and felt the remorse of revealing too much when not entirely in control, because of course he'd considered it, he considered it often, whether it would be better for everyone if he removed himself from the city. But it wasn't something he wanted to have an open discussion about.

"I guess I wasn't thinking straight," he floundered. "I can assure you, I have no plans to leave Atlantis. I mean, I only just got back." His anxious eyes met Hercules', and the big man looked convinced, relieved, while a glance at Pythagoras revealed him looking skeptical but not combative, like he was willing to let the matter rest. "Forget about whatever I said last night," Jason insisted, "I was just..." he crossed his arms, _oversharing_ is what he was, which was never welcome, but then a thought occurred to him, he looked sharply at Pythagoras and finished, "drugged. Wait a minute." He pointed an accusing finger at his friend. "I didn't know what I saying last night because you drugged me. Perhaps we should have a conversation about that."

Hercules smirked. "I heard about that. Wish I'd stayed up to watch."

Jason narrowed his eyes, finding little humour in the subject.

"I have already apologised," Pythagoras said with weary defiance. "I'm sorry I put a sedative in your drink, even though it was in your best interests."

"No." Jason swung his head firmly. "Don't justify it. And don't ever do it again, it is a slippery slope, and I don't want to be worrying about what you're putting in my food."

"Yes, alright," the mathematician returned peevishly. "I promise not to make you well ever again."

"No." Jason swung his head again, grinding his teeth but determined to keep his voice level. "Don't do that either. Don't deliberately misunderstand me. I love you like a brother, and I have to admit that I feel pretty damn good today, but next time be honest about what you're doing. _Jason, I'm about to knock you out. Is that ok with you?_"

Pythagoras gave a short laugh. "I hardly think it would be a civil conversation."

"Then perhaps it's a clue that you shouldn't do it."

"Ah, I've missed this," Hercules sighed happily. "Haven't you missed this? The three of us back together, arguing about nothing. Not an archer in sight. This is living."

Pythagoras smiled warmly at his friend. "It has been a long week."

Jason nodded his agreement, sharing the feeling that after a week of tension and wariness it was a relief to be unencumbered by purpose or responsibility.

"Let's drink to that," Hercules said, raising his mug in toast, and they all swallowed a mouthful of wine.

The ensuing pause felt like an opportunity to Jason, a carpe diem kind of moment, and he decided to seize it, ducked his head shyly and began, "Look. I just want to say- you are very good friends. I mean, really- the best kind of friends-. And I really appreciate what you did-" he took a hasty swig of wine to bolster his courage, not at all comfortable about expressing his feelings, even though it felt right, and overdue. He couldn't look at either friend's face in case it stop him in his tracks. "Entering an enemy camp to find me was just, you know, above and beyond, I never would have expected it. And- and it's not just that- I mean, there are other times- you've both been so-" Jason sighed because he was making a real meal of it, and swore under his breath.

"No, please continue," Hercules quipped lightly. "It's not at all awkward or uncomfortable." He tousled the young man's hair and Jason playfully batted his hand away. "Perhaps, rather than force us to endure more of your stuttering, you should make dinner for the next month to show your appreciation."

"Perhaps I should," Jason smiled.

They spent the afternoon in the tavern, chatting and joking about anything and everything, easy and joyous in each other's company. Jason knew that he loved these men. He had already known that, it had dawned upon him early in the relationship, but it was impressed upon him once again. He would do anything for these men. It felt like a bond stronger than family because it involved choice and willingness. He would do anything for them, and he felt in his soul that they would do anything for him. It felt good to revel in it for a while.

**The End**


End file.
